


Infinity

by jusrecht



Series: Infinity [2]
Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Post R1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-01-29
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A knight and his prince. The extent of loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a companion to my first Schneizel/Suzaku oneshot, [Fairy Tale](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2061384). You may want to read it first in order to understand this. Enjoy.

 

The night proceeded to unfold just like its many predecessors.

Suzaku lay on the bed, eyes closed, breathing gradually returning to its regular cadence. He waited, silently counting until sixty and listening for any sign of movement in the room. If the prince left the bed in that duration of sixty seconds, he would wait until it was safe enough to leave without being seen. If the prince, however, remained in bed, Suzaku would take it as a sign for him to leave immediately. This was the procedure he had come up with since their second night together to spare them any possible awkwardness – more from his part obviously, since Schneizel had so far proven himself immune to such pitfalls.

It might seem incredible, preposterous even, to be concerned with manners and decorum in the middle of this… something which could only be considered as a corrupt, sordid affair. But once he had stripped down the dirty little details, the only thing left was the fact that he was sleeping with a royalty. One wrong move could mean the end of his career, which for a soldier fighting for his motherland would also mean the end of his whole dream. It was, in certain aspects, not unlike treading on the treacherous surface of thin ice.

As of tonight, the latter seemed to be the preferred course of action.

He had never liked this choice. The room was too silent, only the monotonous hum of the air conditioner lending him some sort of half-hearted distraction. He had discovered that focusing his mind on other things greatly helped while he went through the ritual of picking up his discarded clothes and putting them on as quickly and quietly as possible. The air conditioner was one. The soft texture of the carpet under his feet was another. And then the cool waft of air on his bare skin, the brush of fabric as he slid his uniform back in place, the metallic click of his belt. Those little things.

But they were not nearly enough. Not to distract him from the man lounging on the bed. Or the wet, sticky sensation between his legs and inside him. Or the unpleasant voice in his head whispering accusation and condemnation of this new degree he had sunk to. So low. So despicable. So utterly unbefitting of the man Japan had expected to save her.

“Suzaku-kun.”

The voice was languid, as if wisps of sleep almost had the issuer under their clutch, but Suzaku was too tense to notice much. He raised his eyes slowly, meeting the prince’s indifferent gaze, and tried not to bite his lips.

“You may come again tomorrow night.”

The waves of anger hit him fast, rising, rolling, almost stifling him. He felt like he had been punched in the chest. It wasn’t a request, neither a permission, nor an order. The liberty to choose was in his hand, and yet it wasn’t. Double-edged words. Ambiguity. Third meaning in the depth of abstraction, under the mask of generosity.

The prince was clearly fucking with his head. Suzaku didn’t quite remember how he could overcome his rage in the end and force himself to bow and answer quietly, “Yes, Your Highness.”

He just did.

Even his voice was perfectly toneless. He would have been proud, but the satisfaction was as faint and fleeting as a midsummer’s night dream. There wasn’t a taste of victory in this. He knew that once he looked at the older man again, it would be utter defeat staring at him in the face.

It was almost natural to choose to turn around and leave without looking back. The wound in his heart was fresh and raw, smarting and throbbing in his chest. Each step brought him farther from the inflictor, but this wasn’t about distance. This had never been about distance. He was single-handedly carrying the pain and it was his and his alone.

It wasn’t until he was safe in the confines of his own room that he loosened the tight grip on his self-control and just let go. It wasn’t through tears, or wrecked sobs, or howls of frustration. Suzaku leant back to the closed door and slid down to the floor, head lolling backward, fingers crushing each other. Shame, remorse, anger, pain, all was wreaking havoc inside him, but he wasn’t crying.

He laughed. And laughed, the sound insipid, disjointed, endless. Until tears came and frustration subsided and exhaustion caught up.

And then it was the blissful oblivion for a few too short moments, until morning found him and dragged him back to reality.

**  
_End_ **

 


	2. Gambits Within Gambits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'However, it was also the beginning of everything.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second of Infinity series. Basically, this is [Fairy Tale](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2061384) from Schneizel’s side, but I’ve decided not to write another long one-shot because it will cost me a lot more than I dare to pay. Imagining the whole work already daunts me so much that I just decide to run away and make a series of ficlets instead. Granted, they will be rather disjointed compared to _Fairy Tale_ but I hope no one would mind terribly. And once I’m done with this ‘from Schneizel’s side’ thing, I’ll write the continuation of the story, still as a series of ficlets. All updates will be put here, as a part of the ‘Infinity’ series. That said, enjoy the read.

It was a bet.

Not the cheap kind one would arrange with a friend for the sake of frivolity, nor with an opposing party in lieu of the more conventional, possibly dangerous method to settle differences, such as the crossing of blades. It was an interesting one, as far as the subject went, but also a dangerous one. After all, the end put at stake was the interest of an empire – the empire he aimed to lead someday. It was imperative that he played his moves right, in the most careful manner, and lost not even the slightest chance to secure every drop of victory.

Involving himself in this bet was probably not the wisest decision he had ever made. That it dealt with too many risks which might permanently damage his chances was a knowledge not unfamiliar to him, but risk was a thoroughly well-known acquaintance for a prince who had every intention to usurp his eldest brother.

No, not _usurp_. Such coarse language. It spoke of mindless force and desecration of rights. What he was trying to do was best described as one of the most discrete and cunning stratagem known to mankind. A manipulation. 

As to how this particular young man had come into the equation, Schneizel el Britannia could offer the most infallible excuse. An opportunity had presented itself, and he was not one to waste a moment, a move, a piece which might just be the determinative of the game. Sacrifices were necessary, a good strategy even more so, but there was a reason why a determinative was called a determinative.

Kururugi Suzaku was in no way a determinative. That he stood out amongst a crowd of otherwise nondescript peons was true, but a mere display of bravery could only do so much. Without shrewdness and detailed planning, one could only attain certain mediocre heights. Euphie was only a girl, too young to want more than what her surface emotions dictated. She fell in love, and therefore she chose him – a simple, honest decision, impervious to any deceitful scheme.

Innocence was not a sin. Neither was it a flaw, although it could be an obvious hindrance at times. In her, innocence was something he actually found charming, something he could afford to indulge every now and then, to remind him of those innocent days when siblings had yet to be anything else but a blessing, if often in disguise.

It all began with her innocence.

He understood the way the world turned, the way day-to-day life unfolded. Cause-and-effect had never been about one cause and one effect. Innumerable begot countless. Her untimely death was one result of a constellation of factors, each no less important than the next, and to think that his decision to endorse one of her impulsive ideas was solely to blame for her death was a foolishness so entirely beneath his person that he must be either fully intoxicated or barely conscious for even considering the issue.

It still did not stop the thought from festering in his mind. More than once he had found himself wondering what could have happened if he had said no to her, or if he had been there, at her side when death had offered her its cold, shrunken hand. Would it end differently? Or would it be just another dance in the deepening night, wishing that the clock would not struck midnight?

And then of course, _Cornelia._

Still, regrets were regrets because they changed nothing. The past would remain a broken mirror, hidden in the darkest corner of one's closet as it could only offer an ugly reflection to anyone who dared to peer into its depth. Eternally beyond repair. But then again, it was exactly why he had bought himself the new one.

_Future._

Never linger on past failures. His call was to decide the next course of action, one which would benefit him the most. And so he did.

Instead of punishing Kururugi Suzaku for being alive, he took the Eleven under his wing.

\-----

“He is an Eleven.”

Kneeling in front of the large screen from which his father was visibly frowning down at him, the Second Prince found himself facing the inevitable. Long before the summon order came, he had known that at some point in the future, there would be questions for which he would have to provide answers, and that the emperor himself would be the deliverer of some of those questions. Considering what he had just done, it was to be expected.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, eyes still carefully directed to the carpeted floor just under the screen – humbleness was a virtue when it was due. “And it is exactly why I offer him to stay.”

There were many words which could describe the 98th Emperor of Britannia, but ‘unintelligent’ had never been one of them. This was a simple equation, one a man of his eminence could not possibly fail to decipher. Schneizel knew that his motives were straightforward enough as they were – at least the ones he cared to show the rest of the world.

While the political reasons he had told Suzaku were true to some extent, they were not the only reasons. Britannia’s interests played a larger part in this, more than he had let the younger man know. With the Chinese Federation steadily building its army behind the proverbial bamboo curtains, Japan ended up playing a role far more important than a mere subjugated area. And if their future plans were to be carried out as intended, the Land of the Rising Sun had to remain a part of their territory no matter what.

And his father, the powerful ruler who had conquered many countries, undoubtedly knew this.

“What about his failure?”

“His failure was due to the unfavourable circumstances and not exclusively his fault,” the prince replied, his level voice reciting the answer from a mental note he had appropriately armed himself with. “As far as decisions were concerned, it was her who ordered him to stay behind.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it only demonstrates inability to deal with volatile situations,” the Emperor said, condescension apparent in his voice. Schneizel resisted a frown. As it turned out, to overcome the wall of prejudice was not as easy as he had thought.

“Be that as it may, his character should not be determined by one failure only,” he continued to reason. “Your Majesty, Area 11 is an extremely unstable place. At this moment, when our forces are spread thin and wide across the borders, a peaceful solution is preferable to opening another front of war which, given our current situation, we most likely will not be able to win. I have plans concerning Major Kururugi. If Your Majesty would allow me to follow them through, then we might be able to prevent the situation from deteriorating any further due to the incident in the Special Area.”

The ensuing silence was heavy with unvoiced questions and their subsequent evasions. Only one cause could never put anything in motion. He knew this. His Majesty knew this. What prevented them to be in an equal footing in this subject was only a certain design he had in mind – one he would still keep outside his father's sight no matter what.

That he had his eyes set on the throne was not quite a secret, at least not to the emperor, and it was an issue far from simple when you were only the second son of the family. His mask of amiability might be able to fool most people, but it was not good enough when his main contender proved to suffer a glaring lack of necessary qualities to be a decent ruler.

It was not that he disliked his elder brother, who, despite severely lacking any strength of character, was not a disagreeable man. It was the nobles surrounding the Crown Prince with whom he had a problem – their ambitions, their hidden agenda, not to mention their audacity to take advantage of the weakness of the very person whom they should have served.

And the fact that Odysseus could not see beyond the empty praises and sugary words did not exactly endear him to Schneizel. The way his mind worked was simple. If he could not have an empire which suited his purposes, then it was time to take matters into his own hand.

And Kururugi Suzaku happened to be one of the central actors in this play he was orchestrating.

The prince knew he was not only imagining the voices of disagreement pervading his father’s court. Subjugation was one thing, but mistreatment often bred disapproval, not only from the subjugated party but also from the more benign circles of aristocracy. The ruling sovereign might be notorious for his condemnation to equality, but when the time came, people would remember the Second Prince and this young Eleven whom he had given a second chance.

A daring plan, yes, but Britannia had always valued courage more than apathy.

And of course anger played a part in it too, which he had to admit. Euphie had been one of very few people in the world who had _actually_ mattered to him, and despite the bizarre circumstances of her death, he found himself holding her knight responsible for his inability to protect her. A small retribution of some kind. He knew very well how much the young Eleven hated his choice to stay.

Killing three birds with one stone. Not a poor achievement, even by his standard.

“What exactly are you planning?” His Majesty suddenly asked, the heavy timbre of his voice reverberating in the room. Schneizel realised that it wasn’t out of curiosity as much as vanity – the need to show his son that he knew there was something more, lying quietly beneath layers of ingenious proposals.

The prince smiled noncommittally and bowed his head. “I serve only for the glory of the empire.”

And he did not need to look up to see the amusement on his father’s face. “You are the temporary Governor-General of Area 11,” the emperor said, sounding surprisingly indifferent after the earlier display of interest. “Do as you wish.”

His smile might broaden a little, but then again, it was a victory well justified.

\-----

“Kururugi Suzaku.”

It started with deathly silence, hovering in the air like the whistle of the void. And then, as if a conductor had raised his baton, everyone in the room began speaking all at once – or shouting, seeing how they had gone _fortissimo_  from the beginning. One timbre encouraged another and soon the meeting room had become a theatre of phonic war.

Sitting at the head of the long table, the prince raised a hand to cease the unpleasant cacophony before it could get any worse. The voices gradually died down, leaving only a smattering of whispers across the room as all eyes were focused on his person.

“I do not see what the problem is,” he said, earning himself a shower of incredulous looks from his officers. “The commander of the vanguard has always been chosen from the most able officers in the entire division. Surely all of you realise how qualified he is?”

Another torrent of passionate responses flooded the room. Schneizel looked at General Bartley who was sitting on his left and let the good general take care of the commotion before adding dryly, “If it is possible for only two or three of you to be speaking at the same time, I will appreciate it.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued, and then General Alston, the first to recover from his reprimand, opened her mouth.

“We don't think that qualifications are the issue here, Your Highness.”

“Then what, pray tell, is exactly the issue?”

The female general looked slightly uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze, but her voice was steady enough when she answered, “In a crisis of a magnitude as great as this, it would be unwise to trust anyone but our own people.”

After sharing a glance with Earl Asplund who was sitting at the other end of the table without seemingly the slightest care in the world, the prince leant back to his seat and declared flatly, “He is a Britannian.”

“He is an honorary Britannian.”

“And such status apparently equals disloyalty?”

Her uneasiness noticeably increased and some of its effect began to trickle into her voice. “No, of course not, Your Highness, but to exercise caution is never wrong, especially when the situation involves an individual who has turned his backs on his mother country.”

Something, pity perhaps, stirred inside him at the argument. The road was long and hard, and Suzaku had shown nothing but good faith and hard work. Perseverance. Determination not to surrender. It was admirable, the way he refused to acknowledge all the cruel treatments and rounds of incontrovertible malice directed at him in what seemed to be an hourly basis. The journey was long still; the prince only hoped that this determination could last through the next storm.

And the next.

And the next one after that, as long as the show still went on.

“Major Kururugi is an extraordinary soldier,” he heard himself saying impassively. “In fact, he is better than every other name on that list with which you have supplied me.”

“But being an extraordinary soldier does not necessarily mean that he is also a good commander,” the general persisted. “And Your Highness must have known that this will be his first time to lead a regiment of such scale. His leadership skills have been so far untested.”

“Then we shall have it tested.”

“Sire, with all due respect–“

“I understand your concerns,” he calmly interpolated. “These possibilities have not escaped me, General, but this is more than just about defending a part of our territory from foreign invasion. If misgivings are the grounds of your objection, then I shall take sole responsibility on the matter regardless of the outcome. Is there any other objection in regard of this subject?”

His decisive manner seemed to put a damp on his generals’ will to argue. They were glancing at each other, restlessness all but concealed, and yet none rose to his challenge. In the other side of the room, Lloyd was smiling noncommittally.

“Then this discussion is over,” the prince stated, his tone final. “Good day, Generals.”

Trained to recognise dismissal when they saw one, the officers filed out of the room quickly but quietly. Their point was not wholly without merit, the prince acknowledged, but there were times when prudence had to be forfeited in favor of success itself. No half and half. It was all, or nothing.

The next thing was to make sure that his newly appointed commander-of-the-vanguard did not back down from the fight, in which he had only the smallest doubt. Overconfidence might be the pitfalls of many greater schemes, but the prince had reasons to believe that his was not completely unwarranted. And it had very little to do with the fact that it was his long-time friend who had suggested the young man in the first place.

“That went pretty well,” Lloyd cheerfully said once the door had closed behind the last officer, leaving only the two of them in the meeting room.

“I suppose it could be worse,” Schneizel agreed mildly and rose to his feet. “I’ll leave it to you to inform him. Do it as soon as possible. He is going to need quite a preparation on this.”

“You should be the one who breaks the news to him,” the earl said, tone easily neutral, a sliver of calmness in the wake of a passing storm. The prince only raised his eyebrows.

“Well, there is no harm in making him feel more… needed. Respected.” Again, it was the utter nonchalance which stood out the most. Lloyd made a careless gesture with one hand and added, “I don’t want to lose him either. He’s perfect.”

Schneizel found himself smiling at the word. “Indeed.”

\-----

Respect, as it turned out, was a fairly straightforward issue when it came to Suzaku. In fact, it was almost impossible not to give him respect when he had evidently managed to win his share from the entire battalion – and more importantly, made them admit it.

Attraction, on the other hand, was a completely different matter.

Was it even an attraction? The prince reflected on this question with certain amount of – possibly misplaced – amusement, silently taking in all the details laid before his eyes. He had a very inebriated major sleeping on his couch and it might or might not be his fault. After all, getting a kiss from a prince was clearly not one of the best things which could happen to someone who wasn’t in full possession of their wits. As a result, the young man had simply passed out and the other came to a decision that attraction or not, amusement still ought to be enjoyed to its fullest.

It was certainly an interesting situation. There were many scenarios he could develop from this, all to his advantages, but they would ultimately come down to one point. Devotion – the most powerful, the most useful of tools, and if he could own it…

The sharp, intoxicating scent of sweet, sweet denial reached his nose. He acknowledged it with a faint smile. Denial never suited him. He had been watching Suzaku too closely, perhaps much too closely than he should, but given the circumstances of the observation and its subject, it was inevitable. Attraction was the result – probably another of the inevitables – and his only choice was to accept.

Other than twisting it to suit his own purposes, of course.

And accept it he did. With the calmest manner. Amusement and business should not go hand-in-hand, they said, but an extraordinary situation merited an extraordinary solution. And challenges, those wisps of fresh air in an otherwise tedious reality, were always welcome.

Besides, the prince smiled, the tip of his fingers brushing the younger man’s left cheek, if he played his pieces right, he might just be able to kill another bird.

**_End_ **


	3. Set To Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A midnight reflection by Schneizel el Britannia. Subject: Kururugi Suzaku and the value of perfection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic happens right before part 19 of [Fairy Tale](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2061384). Anyway, enjoy.

It was within the understanding of the public that there was nothing such as surprises to Prince Schneizel el Britannia. Surprises were the company of lesser beings and he, faultless to a fault, was impervious to them.

Of course it wasn’t necessarily the truth, although most of the times the prince hardly felt any need to contradict this belief. People saw, judged, and decided. Their opinion was what made a king, a king. Such power ought to be calculated, manipulated, and then respected from afar once it had rung throughout the society.

 _Vox populi vox dei_. The voice of the people is the voice of God.

It was not to say that he was completely immune to surprises. They came to him from time to time, these small puzzles with its colourful pieces scattered all over the wrong place. His sentiment to them was rather fluctuating. It was true that he took personal delight in watching the world revolve and the pages being written exactly the way he wanted them to, but there were times when surprises should remain as surprises and thus served as a wonderful source of entertainment.

Tonight, he decided that he could enjoy this small, unusual serving of surprise.

How long had it been, the prince contemplated silently, since the last time he had shared his bed with anyone? Not in the shallow sense of having his needs met and satisfied, but _really_ sharing his bed. Through the silent hours of the night until the sky in the horizon was ablaze with fire and gold. He couldn’t remember the last time he had woken up and found not endless solitude but another person, slumbering peacefully next to him as the sun rose and bathed them with her warm, comforting glow.

A romantic notion. A little too romantic perhaps, but it was enough to persuade him not to rouse his companion.

The prince sat down, so very carefully as to not make the slightest disturbance to the other occupant of his bed. It had never happened before, but of course there was a first to everything. He had left the room for a short while after having his way with the young Eleven, and upon his return, discovered said Eleven still comfortably nestled in his comforter. In fact, Suzaku had fallen into a state of deep slumber and was utterly oblivious to the problem he currently presented the prince with. Schneizel had, in fact, found himself in front of too many crossroads, with more options laid before him than it should have been possible, each holding its own flaws and merits. Many if not most of them were difficult choices, requiring no less than a full exploitation of his knowledge and intellect in order to find the right direction, but this one, he must admit, provided him with a different challenge.

The first theory which had then occurred to him came from years of putting circumspection before everything else. It was suspicion, that a design of an unpleasant nature or possibly malicious intent was at work. After all, there was a deviation to their nightly routine and it was a widely accepted rule that any kind of deviation by and large indicated that something was not quite right.

The second theory however, vehemently opposed the first. Suzaku had his own interest to protect and it would do him more harm than good if he tried to go against the Second Prince. Besides, after a period of several months of observing the young soldier, Schneizel had arrived to the conclusion that if there was someone who wasn’t capable of executing any deceitful scheme at all, it would be Suzaku. He would rather take a chance which was so overwhelmingly against him head on and die a foolish man than backstab his enemy.

The third theory – in which there was an outside party pulling a lot of invisible strings behind his back – actually endorsed the first, but then Suzaku sighed in his sleep and moved slightly toward him and the prince came to a decision that he could postpone this evaluation for a better time. Besides, a good surprise must never go to waste.

The young Eleven had always been a feast to the eyes, Schneizel reflected in appreciation as his eyes slowly took in the sight generously displayed before them. Whether he was frowning or smiling, laughing or blushing, sleeping or fighting, there was a subtle pull in everything he did. But the one the prince liked the most had to be when he arched his back, eyes squeezed shut, the testimony to his pleasure no longer suppressible as nails sank into white sheets and a half-strangled moan tore itself from his throat. It was pleasure and agony all blended into one and it was breathtaking.

Sex with Suzaku was interesting, a mix of need and denial and embarrassment and who knows what else. Denial was especially recurrent, which made the situation not only enjoyable but also interesting to watch. There was always an internal battle going on under his skin and it was reflected on his face, by every muscle in his body, in everything he did. Tensing but giving in. Flinching away but pressing closer. He hated it but he wanted it, and these contradictions were driving him mad.

Outside the bedroom, things were a little smoother. Kururugi Suzaku, the Eleven and Britannian soldier, was a valuable asset either in the political stage or an actual battlefield, even though the person in question hardly ever realised the real extent of his own importance. It might be a weakness, but so far the prince was still content to let it be, particularly since this ignorance put his side of agreement at a distinct advantage. Why gave away the smallest ground if he could keep them all under his control? He had a powerful piece in his hand, as had been proven by this war which would hopefully end in two more days, thanks to the aforementioned piece.

Suzaku sighed again and curled closer to him, one palm laid bare and open on the bedspread as if asking for something. The prince found himself holding a silent debate whether to acquiesce to the request or not. He could not help being amused at how different the younger man looked when he was asleep. The innate fierceness which followed his every waking moment let go of their clutch and left behind this portrait of tarnished innocence, a boy of not-yet-eighteen who deserved, more than anything, to be happy.

The world had denied it from him for far too long. Or maybe it was the boy himself, always running away from every chance of happiness. He was a bundle of contradictions and paradoxes, with so much bottled-up anger and long-untended guilt. When Euphemia died, they only burned and swelled. Too much grief. Too much regrets. Too overwhelming that he was disposed to do just about anything.

Young loves – fiery, passionate, disappearing in an instant and yet lasting for a lifetime. They had their uses after all.

Slowly, almost gingerly, Schneizel let his fingers touch the openly spread palm. Suzaku didn’t jerk awake – he must have been either unconscious or very exhausted, a condition which the prince realized he took a fair share of responsibility for. Instead, the hand curled instinctively, long calloused fingers trapping his own in their warmth, and something in that infinitesimal, almost meaningless gesture caused a slight pang in his chest. Suzaku had never been one for gentleness. Being honest and blunt with him worked so much better than using compassion or benevolence, but sometimes, _sometimes_ Schneizel wondered if it wasn't because he had never had any.

No matter what, the boy was a very useful piece. Very obedient. Not exactly _obedient_ perhaps, but at least obedient enough to be useful. And at chess, even a pawn could turn the tide and deliver victory to its king.

But the young Eleven wasn’t a pawn. He was the dark horse – no, the white one. His white knight. Ready and willing to be nurtured, trained, sharpened, until the moment came when the knight would turn into the queen. The most powerful of all pieces, one only the king could command.

His masterpiece.

It was a good plan. Not perfect, but then again he had no need for a perfect one.

“Because at the heart of uncertainty, there lies perfection,” the prince murmured and drew back his hand before settling in the bed with a smile.

****

**_End_ **


	4. Outside Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneizel and Lloyd engage each other in a game of chess and a little evening conversation.

 

“It was a bad move.”

“No, it was the only move.”

Schneizel glanced up from the chess board, finding his opponent’s face drawn into a frown. Lloyd had his entire concentration focused on the ongoing game which, the prince had to admit, was only fitting since black was steadily overwhelming white. He had won all five fronts of battle scattered all over the board, four of which occurring at the opposite side. Checkmate, he predicted, was only twelve moves away. The final countdown had begun, and it was time for the White king to bring the last few tactics in his arsenal into play.

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Lloyd finally looked up from his falling formation and pinned a glare at the prince. Schneizel found himself smiling innocuously.

“It was not the only move,” he pointed out, his tone perfectly unassuming. “You could have withdrawn the bishop to A-6.”

“And let you prey on my queen?” There was a hint of a sneer in the other man’s voice, half-lidded eyes heavy with accusation behind a pair of glinting spectacles. “My skill at chess may be mediocre at best and I am certainly not a grand master like _Your Imperial Highness_ , but I do understand how to play the game.”

“And then your knight will be free to corner my king,” the prince continued, completely unperturbed by the volley of sarcasm ruthlessly hurled at him.

This possibility of tactic obviously had not occurred to the earl. His face darkened, mouth twisting into an involuntary grimace as his eyes scanned the battlefield once more.

“As brilliant as it may sound, there’s no point to using that strategy if you've known about it all the same, is it?” he accused caustically.

“No, but at least it will let me know that you are capable of such strategy.” Schneizel leant back to his armchair with a complacent air and reclaimed the glass of brandy he had previously abandoned in the heat of battle. “And it may be able to prolong the game for a few turns,” he added with a subdued smile.

“Which, of course, serves no other purpose but to stroke His Highness’s inflated ego,” Lloyd said dryly and moved his queen away to G-7. When he spoke again, there were traces of frustration in his voice. “What exactly am I doing here? I mean, why am I here at all?”

“To play chess, of course.”

“Because you ordered me to.”

“Because I asked you to,” the prince corrected, positioning his knight to launch another sequence of attacks. “Do you not find this an enjoyable pastime?”

“To be thoroughly crushed at chess by you? I can hardly think of anything more enjoyable,” the other man muttered with unconcealed petulance and organized the remaining of his pieces to withstand the upcoming onslaught.

“I am certain the future Countess Asplund will be able to change your opinion in little to no time,” Schneizel responded placidly, careful to keep only the slightest hint of amusement on his countenance as the remark inflicted its intended effect on his friend’s mood. Lloyd was rarely a victim to a game of meandrous words, but the prince prided himself as one of the very few people who could always gain the upper hand in such situation. “And how is the lovely lady who is working for you, Lloyd?”

This sudden leap of topic seemed to catch his friend off guard. “Why is it that you always move from one subject to another so fast?” the earl demanded with a renewed set of glare.

“Dealing with thirty, forty things at once on daily basis conditions me to be flexible all the time,” he replied easily. It was not curiosity as much as an impulse to tease an old friend, a habit, Schneizel realised, which he had embraced to practice with alarming faithfulness since a certain young man had come into his life. “Has the lovely lady finally made her move? Last time I heard, you two were discovered in a fairly compromising situation.”

A small glint appeared in the other man’s eyes. “Which ‘she’ are we talking about?”

The prince allowed himself an amused chuckle, much less reserved than it should have probably been. “There is more than one? Why, Earl Asplund, you certainly know how to conceal an affair from the prying eyes of our public.”

“I did no such thing,” Lloyd protested. “Concealing my affairs from _your_ prying eyes was the only objective I had in mind.”

Slyly mocking remarks and double-edged words, weapon of choice in his circle of society. There could never be enough practice to defend oneself against them, but standing there at the receiving end of his friend’s fine verbal sword, the Second Prince was once again reminded why he repeatedly found himself intrigued by the new candidate of his knight, someone who wielded sheer determination instead of coils of elaborate schemes. It was an incontestable law, that opposites attract, and he was only a mortal not immune to its encompassing lure.

“Well, I am certainly flattered to be held in such high regard,” he replied calmly and completed his trap with his remaining bishop marching to F-3 before glancing up to his opponent’s frowning face. “Check.”

“Not yet.” Lloyd quickly blocked the black bishop’s path with a rook. Schneizel felt a smile chasing the curve of his lips. The last few desperate breaths of a dying empire, but he knew better than to mock valor and dutifully set another trap. The chase had begun. Check here. Escape there. Ambush here. Retreat there. Black and white pieces performed their deadly dance in silence, baiting and striking and fleeing until Lloyd finally picked up their discarded conversation once more.

“She is working for me,” he said slowly, the slightest hint of curiosity in his voice as half of his concentration remained on the board. “Should there be more?”

Schneizel met the other man’s wary gaze with a half-lidded look. “What about the fascinating details behind doors?”

Lloyd chuckled, interest in yet another match flickering to life. “Unless there is an equivalent trade, Your Highness shall find my lips sealed on this subject,” the earl said cheerfully. “It is only fair, after all.”

“But what other details do you want to know, Lloyd? Surely your curiosity has been satisfied by bits of information you have undoubtedly managed to glean from my unsuspecting knight? And I know you have broken into his computer only for that purpose.”

“Since I gained the access by myself, it isn’t on the bargain table,” the earl smoothly retaliated.

“Not even for a longtime friend?”

“Especially not for this longtime friend. I know you and your methods too well.”

The prince sighed deeply. “I profess myself saddened by the lack of faith in our friendship,” he said solemnly and lowered a hand to move his rook to H-3, once more trapping the white king. “Check again.”

This new development returned Lloyd’s full attention to the checkered battlefield. Several minutes of uninterrupted silence and a few sips of brandy later, he threw his hands up to the air, declaring loudly, “I give up.”

Schneizel felt the beginning of a frown on his temple. “Not yet. This is not a checkmate. There is still a chance for white to turn the table.”

“But I give up,” the earl said stubbornly and pushed the small white crown carved on top of his king lightly, causing the piece to tip over. “See? He’s dead. And the rule is when one of the kings dies, the game ends.”

“What if we switch sides? I’d like to try yours and see if I still can win in such condition.”

“No, I won’t give you the pleasure to humiliate me and my inferiority in chess further, Your Highness,” Lloyd said with what seemed to be a misplaced satisfaction, once again proving to the world that the only service his imperial title provided to this particular friend of his was to be an instrument of oblique mocking. “Why can’t we just sit here and talk if you just want to pass the time?”

“Since your interest lies solely on Lancelot and uranium and mine on far less esoteric subjects, I doubt we have much common ground available,” Schneizel informed him with a matter-of-fact tone.

“What about him?”

A pale eyebrow arched inquiringly. “What about him?”

The earl leant back to his own seat, curiosity etched deep on his features. “You’re serious, aren’t you? About taking him as your knight.”

“Why else do you think I am proceeding with this complicated journey to accolade?” Schneizel replied, swirling the dark liquid in his glass in a slow circular motion.

“You’re planning something.”

The prince acknowledged this accusation with a noncommittal smile. “I am always planning something, Lloyd. Why would this be any different?”

The earl frowned, although the expression appeared more thoughtful than reproving on his visage. “All I ask is don’t destroy him,” he said with a degree of seriousness which could only come from years of loving Knightmares and no other. “As painful as it is for me to admit this, he’s irreplaceable when it concerns Lancelot.”

“I’m afraid that it isn’t entirely up to me,” Schneizel answered, his voice devoid of any emotion save for its typical placidity.

Lloyd looked at him in surprise and, if his eyes did not deceive him, uncontainable horror. “He fell in love with you?”

The prince did not answer, white-gloved fingers silently toying with a captured piece. A white knight, he realised, and almost smiled at the irony.

“That is not for me to say,” he settled with a diplomatic answer.

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” A touch of accusation.

“Perhaps,” he replied mildly, careful to keep any inflection out of his voice. Lloyd’s eyes were studying him closely, as if trying to decipher the torturous labyrinth of his mind, and it made the prince wonder if it was really that difficult to fathom.

“Well, as long as you don’t destroy him too badly,” the other man finally said with a shrug, apparently finding the task too numbing for a mind of his calibre.

Schneizel only smiled.

He still remembered. It was a half confession, whispered amidst hundreds of gleaming candlelight. Whether it had indeed come from the heart or merely a method to persuade him as the Governor-General of Area 11 he could never know for certain, but the look on Suzaku’s face had spoken volumes. And if it wasn’t love, then perhaps something close enough. Like desperation.

Confidence was an innate part of him. He enjoyed to connive and then to watch the unfolding result of said connivance, but this one was different. For once, he was not only an orchestrator, but also an actor, and actors were those whose future was still impossible to untangle while they were still on the stage. They could only walk blindly on, swept by the rising and falling waves and colliding against each other, slowly traveling in the ocean of time.

Of course there was still a fair chance that everything would turn out as he had expected, but the other possibility, unlikely though it might seem, was not lost to him. That in the end, it was not about him destroying Suzaku.

It was the other way around.

**_End_ **


	5. Palace of Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A taste of nobility for a fledgling imperial knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better served with either ‘The Blue Danube’ or ‘Emperor Waltz’ by the illustrious Johann Strauss, set on repeat.

The ballroom was abuzz with lively conversations, threaded with the slow rise and fall of smooth, flowing notes played by the chamber orchestra. Noble guests in elegant dresses and other formal attires filled the hall with life and colours none of the sculptures, elaborate carvings, or detailed tapestries could offer. Leather boots and high-heeled shoes danced across gleaming marble floor with practiced ease, trailing after the cadence of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of The Flowers. From the richly ornamented ceiling hung many columns of crystal chandeliers, brightly glittering in the impressive Hall of Dionysius.

In the middle of this painting of splendor and opulence, Suzaku found himself at odds with his own sense of duty. It firmly ordered him to stay, keep that politely interested look on his face, and _listen_. The rest – real common sense – told him to run away as fast as possible.

He knew that he should have listened to the latter when the conversation took a turn for the worse.

“’Tis lavender. I’m sure of it.”

“But I have been told that it has the most beautiful shade of periwinkle.”

“Oh, but the edge of the petals is undoubtedly violet.”

“It is much too difficult to describe the colour correctly with one word, don’t you agree, Sir?”

The twittering ladies giggled in chorus, their eyes repeatedly batted at him, and Suzaku smothered a wince. He had expected the party to be unbearable, but not _this_ kind of unbearable. Hostility and snide comments he could deal with, but this inane, pointless chattering regarding the many hues of colour of a particular orchid in the Imperial Garden was just a little beyond his limit of tolerance.

To run away though, was sadly not an option at the moment – not when the reception was held in his honour.

In all honesty, everything had gone better than he had dared to expect. The knighting ceremony had proceeded without any significant trouble, at least until the prince informed him that there would be a reception they would have to attend later that night. Suzaku had a suspicion that the reason why this information had been withheld from him until then was to avoid any protest and subsequently difficulty from his side. He certainly wouldn’t put it past the Second Prince, that tactic of such deceitful, Machiavellian nature.

No matter how irritated the situation had left him, it still didn’t change the fact that they had a party to attend. Suzaku hadn’t known what to expect – the halfhearted response like it had been with Euphie perhaps – but the ballroom, already crowded with people when they had arrived, spoke differently about the extent of power of the brother and the sister, and the all-too-obvious disparity between them.

He had then proceeded to spend the first hour being introduced to many lords and ladies of distinction. The present aristocrats basically could be divided into two groups: those who clearly thought that he was only an Eleven whore who had the most outrageous luck in the world for getting in the Second Prince’s good graces, and those who shared the opinion but not the open display of contempt. He realised that many of them viewed his appointment as an opportunity to get in the prince’s good side themselves, particularly once they took his inexperience in this side of the world into account. The overwhelmingly friendly ladies in his current company were a good example of such case.

It was not to say that everyone was ready to welcome him with open arms. Some of them barely deigned to shake hands with him, although their choices were evidently more limited with the Second Prince standing so closely next to him. It was a different story once His Highness had left to entertain his own circle of guests, but after living among the most foul-mouthed Britannian supremacists in military for months, Suzaku rather believed that he could take just about anything.

There was in fact a third group, who hardly gave a damn whether he was an Eleven or not. Lloyd had been a great help to him, intruding on many unpleasant conversations whenever he saw fit and somehow, never failing to make Suzaku smile. For a high-ranked aristocrat, he had an incredible talent of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, so much that it was almost as if he enjoyed turning the situation worse and even worse still.

Into hour number three, however, the party was becoming wearying. Lloyd had suspiciously disappeared since half-an-hour ago, leaving him alone to deal with these ladies whose conversations he could barely follow. Suzaku knew that he should feel grateful that he wasn’t completely shunned or ignored, but even his appreciation started to wear off along with the amount of flowers they were dissecting.

On the verge of losing his entire interest in the majesty of white camellias, Suzaku glanced across the ballroom to where his lord-and-master was speaking to a man to whom he had been previously introduced as Lord Rothermel, the Duke of Schomberg. The prince caught his glance and gave him a look of combined sympathy and amusement, but apart from that, did nothing of consequence to rescue him from the predicament. At least someone seemed to enjoy his suffering, he thought acidly and shot a particularly vicious glare at the very man who had promised that ‘I will not let anything bad happen to you, Suzaku-kun’.

_Right._

He pointedly looked away and took a deep breath, mentally scavenging for the remnants of his endurance as Lady Vivian Wethington launched into a lengthy description about another bush of pink roses which was magnificently blooming in the southeast corner of the palace garden. She quickly lost him in the beginning of her third sentence.

Suzaku couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to survive the following years. From what he had gathered during his two-month crash course, attending formal balls was included in his list of duties. In fact, it was so important to the point where it stood on the same ground with his foremost duty, which was to protect the prince.

Yet another difference with his old position. Somehow he couldn’t quite picture Euphie being here, or making him do this. She was sincere, frank, innocent in a way, and completely without pretense. Schneizel was anything but, and these people were…intimidating.

“Is it by any chance true, Sir Suzaku?”

The question shook him back to present attention, but before he could devise a response – or a question, since he had no idea what in the world they were talking about – Lady Philla Gisborough had said, aghast, “Vivian, your curiosity is outrageous.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you are not curious,” Lady Wethington giggled unabashedly behind her golden fan. “There are rumours circulating around, my good Sir. You must pardon my insolence, but is it true that you are, shall we say, the current recipient of His Highness’s affection?”

Suzaku had eight weeks of strict etiquette learning to thanks to for keeping his face straight. That many had known about his liaison with the prince was not unknown to him, but to think that they would come as far as addressing the matter so openly with him was beyond his wildest imagination. They were looking at him expectantly – as if finding the subject fascinating instead of repulsive – and he began to regret not following his instinct to escape earlier when a pair of hands suddenly appeared and covered his eyes from behind.

“Guess who.”

He stiffened for a second or two, but then his recognition skill quickly caught up with his panic. Tearing the hands away from his face, Suzaku turned around and found a familiar face grinning at him.

“Jacques,” he breathed out, relieved to see his friend and lieutenant – and saviour too, for the impeccability of his timing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so happy to see someone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jacques squeezed his shoulder lightly and then turned to the ladies in their company – who, for some reasons, were now sporting a deep flush on their face. “Good evening, Ladies.”

But then again, he was a handsome man.

“Viscount Strathallan, it has been ages since you last appeared in a party,” Lady Estella De Landtz spoke with a note of reproach in her voice.

“Military duties, Ma’am,” he bowed gracefully at her, earning himself a coy smile from the lady. “I could not bear to disappoint my distinguished superior, seeing how accomplished he is at present and no doubt for many years to come.” His mischievous golden eyes once more rested on said superior. “I believe I have not offered you my congratulations, Sir.”

“Not for the millionth time, no,” Suzaku answered wryly, recalling the period of two months when he couldn’t as much as walk to the mess for lunch without receiving at least ten congratulations from ten different people. Jacques particularly had enjoyed making this a daily ritual, much to his exasperation.

Soon they had excused themselves from the ladies under the pretext of business to discuss. Suzaku was infinitely glad that they hadn’t pressed on the matter of His Highness’s affection and quickly put as much distance as he could between them while he still had the chance. Jacques followed him obediently but with a certain glint of amusement in his eyes as they made their way in the sea of chattering guests.

“You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” Suzaku sighed deeply once they had reached the other end of the room, near the long tables laden with various kinds of refreshment.

“It shows,” Jacques grinned cheekily at him and snatched two glasses of wine from a passing waiter, offering one to him. “I planned to arrive early, but something came up. Turns out it was only because my father didn’t want me to come.”

“Your father?”

“You’ve probably met him,” the taller man shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. “Lord Sedgwick, Earl of Perth?”

“Oh.” Suzaku fell silent. He could see it in his mind, a tall, sullen-looking man with slanted eyes which never looked at him even once. But Lord _Sedgwick_? How he could have failed to make the connection was beyond him. He remembered reading a list of earls and countesses in a haze of drowsiness – which he admitted was one of many details he still failed to commit to memory – but the name ‘Sedgwick’ never managed to get through his mind.

“But you’re here,” he said, unsure as to why Jacques would go against his father’s order if such was the case.

“I picked the lock on the door to my room and escaped,” his friend replied dryly. “Come on, it isn’t like I’m still under his thumb or something. Of course I can choose whoever I want to be friends with. He’s just a little bit miffed because His Highness chose you and not my older sister.”

“What do you mean?” Suzaku could feel the frown on his face. This conversation was going to a direction he entirely didn’t like.

Jacques gulped down the rest of his wine and exchanged the empty glass for a new one before answering, “Her name was on the list of candidates for His Highness’s knight. She’s more than a bit disappointed at the result, that’s for sure, and so is my father. If he was by any chance rude to you earlier, I apologise.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Suzaku said quickly, not caring if he lied a little. “I have no idea–“

“Suzaku, please,” the other man interrupted, a trace of exasperation in his voice. “His Highness has made a choice: you. It means you deserve it, no matter what others say. Besides, it’s a competition – there will always be winning and losing, and this time Daphne got to swallow the bitter pill. Not that I care much anyway. Her ego is already big enough without being the prince’s knight.”

“But she is your sister.”

“She had her chance,” Jacques said flatly. “In the end, Schneizel-sama chose you and that was that.”

Suzaku wasn’t sure what to say to that. He couldn’t help thinking that the ‘competition’ was not as fair as it should have been – as it _could_ have been. He knew he had worked hard and his achievements up till now were far from insignificant, but the fact that he had slept with the prince repeatedly came and nagged on his conscience, again and again. Things might be different had he not. It might be Jacques’s sister who had taken an oath today, who was the current recipient of His Highness’s–

The rush of ill feeling in his stomach told him that he wasn’t _fine_ with the image. Suddenly, it didn’t really matter if the competition had been fair or not.

“Let’s talk about something else,” his friend said decisively, allowing him an escape before the full realisation of what had just transpired in his inner mind could get through the thick haze of denial. “Do you know how many ladies in this room who are looking at you?”

This new topic was scarcely better than the last, but Suzaku decided that if he was going to face many more uncomfortable conversations later – somehow, he just knew that any attempt of talking about illicit liaisons and its equally excruciating minions wouldn’t end here and would be pursued even more vigorously in the future instead – he had better well-acquaint himself with them.

“How do you know they aren’t looking at you?” he tried retaliation, indicating to the close distance they were sharing.

“Because I’m an old hunt,” Jacques answered, the grin already back on his face. “There’s this maniacal gleam in their eyes, if you know what I mean – like they’ve just spotted a fresh meat. And you’re the only one new around here, very good-looking and eligible too. Just let me assure you that these ladies can be quite scary once they have set their eyes on something.”

Suzaku resisted an urge to roll his eyes. “You’re the son of an earl, Jacques,” he pointed out with a matter-of-fact tone of voice, and then added guiltily, “I must admit though, that I didn’t even know you were one until ten minutes ago.”

Again, Jacques shrugged his shoulders. “Does it matter?” he asked and Suzaku wondered if he was imagining the hint of challenge in his voice. “I mean, yes, maybe it does now that you’re the knight of the Second Prince, but it doesn’t make that much difference in military, does it? Titles are as good as useless if you can’t pilot a Knightmare properly. And it isn’t as if you can’t have one once you’ve proven yourself, but you know that best, don’t you, _Sir_ Suzaku?”

“Don’t call me that,” he shot back before heat could rise to his cheeks. The appellation sounded strange in front of his name, like it didn’t belong there – which might be the case, actually – and the way Jacques had said it hardly helped if at all.

“You have to get used to it,” the other man said mildly. “That’s how everyone will refer to you from now on.”

“It’s just because I’m a knight.”

“It won’t be long until you get a real title, believe me,” Jacques told him with a grin, “and then I’ll have to refer to you as _Lord_ Kururugi.”

This time, he wasn’t quick enough to prevent the blush from creeping up to his face. “Jacques, please.”

A hand grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around to face the crowd. “Look around. Are you telling me that you don’t realise why they are here? _Who_ they all came here for?”

It was, Suzaku reflected, the only question designated to him the entire night which he didn’t need to think twice before delivering the answer. “The prince I’ve pledged myself to.”

“And you are the knight of that prince,” Jacques pointed out with a tone of voice which left no room for argument. “You really have to do something about your low self-esteem, Sir Knight.”

“I know,” Suzaku heard the note of frustration slipping into his voice and turned around again to look at his friend. “Do you suppose this is why they can’t accept me?”

Something flickered in the other man’s eyes, something he couldn’t quite decipher. Suzaku wondered if it was pity, but before he could decide, it had disappeared, its pale traces replaced with a wry grin.

“They will have to, sooner or later,” Jacques announced with a solemn voice. “Maybe sooner, if they choose to retire early and let their sons and daughters take over. We have a more open mind.”

Suzaku couldn’t help a smile. They were silent for a few moments, half listening to the light notes gliding in the air. Yet another dance was nearing its end, the pairs parting from each other’s arms to make a bow to one another. Among them, he noticed, was a lady with long red hair cascading down her back.

“Is Claire coming too?” he asked Jacques. “I haven’t seen her the whole night.”

“No.” The grin quickly faded from his friend’s face. “I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming.”

Jacques shifted his eyes away from him uneasily. “I mean about this party,” he said with a low, reluctant voice. “Only nobilities are invited. She has the title of a knight, but I don’t think it counts this time.”

Suzaku did not know what kind of face he was making at this new bit of information, but it made a thin smile appear on the other man’s face. “It’s outrageous, isn’t it?”

Outrageous? It was unbelievable. “She’s no different from me,” he heard himself murmuring, his entire willpower depleted on the effort to suppress all kinds of emotions raging just beneath the surface of his voice. His fingers, he couldn’t help but notice, was gripping the fine crystal glass so tightly that it threatened to break.

“But you are His Highness’s knight,” Jacques’s voice was gentle, almost careful. “Believe it or not, that makes all the difference in the world.”

The subdued chattering of the guests filled the bare expanse between them as silence found him once more. Suzaku let his eyes wander, following the elaborate patterns on the marble floor as his hand fiddled with the stem of his glass. Perhaps it was due to his closeness to the prince, because there were times when he simply forgot that the man he had come to love was, indeed, a prince – a very, _very_ powerful man who could easily have the world under the tip of his fingers should he only wish for it.

Then again, it had been the initial reason why he had sunk into the prince’s bed again and again, hadn’t it?

“You will be asked for a dance.”

“What?” He looked up at Jacques who was repeatedly glancing at something behind his back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The other man leant closer to whisper in his left ear. “In about ten seconds, Lady Agatha Dunrossil will ask you for a dance,” he said in a sly voice, and then pulled back with a complacent air before adding, a smirk on his face, “Enjoy, Sir Knight.”

True to prediction, a lady with long golden hair tightly knotted at the top of her head and a red elaborate dress on her slender frame approached him and made the proposal for the next dance. Suzaku vaguely remembered her as one of many noble’s daughters who had been introduced to him – or more likely, to the prince who had been standing next to him for the most part of the hour. It made him wonder if it was him or Schneizel whom she was actually asking for a dance.

They stepped down onto the dance floor, amidst many other pairs who unabashedly stole one or two glances at them. It was his fourth dance tonight, but he realised why this one attracted many attentions – those sleepless nights he had spent studying and learning about the members of the aristocracy ladder were not for nothing, after all. Lady Agatha Dunrossil was the first and only daughter of Lord Alastir Dunrossil, the Duke of Norfolk, and _she_ asked him for a dance. He could almost hear the wheels in their head turning.

The orchestra began another waltz, one Suzaku knew he recognised but could not, for the life of him, remember anything about it at the moment. It was a slow, melodious music, reverberating in the spacious hall as the couples gracefully followed its three-quarter beat. He couldn’t stop counting in his head – _one_ two three _one_ two three _one_ two three, he was nervous as hell – as they glided around the room. Thankfully his partner, her gloved hand comfortably resting on top of his and the other one on his shoulder, didn’t seem to realise.

They kept the conversation light, on neutral and harmless subjects which everyone could easily respond without thinking. His uneasiness gradually wore off. To lead a woman like this, in a dance, reminded him to an evening long, long time ago – or so it seemed. Euphie’s smile and soft-spoken instructions as she tried not to laugh when he tripped again and again, either over her feet or his own. He had been a poor picture of teenage clumsiness, but for reasons he had yet to fathom until now, she hadn’t seemed to mind.

This was different. The lady’s manner was impeccable, her smile was amiable but not without a touch of stateliness in it. A queen material, he couldn’t help but reflect, and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth the thought had brought. Not yet.

_Not yet._

The music went on, a slight increase in the tempo propelling them into faster steps and turns, and the ballroom faded into a mosaic of colours and indistinct whispers. His partner was now smiling radiantly, her pale blue eyes lighting up with every twist and spin she deftly executed. She clearly loved to dance, and it made Suzaku wish that he was a better dancer.

The dance ended with the couples bowing to one another. Breathless murmurs and applause quickly crowded the empty canvas in the absence of music. Suzaku stood there, waiting, but Lady Dunrossil did not pull her right hand back. Each passing second made him sink deeper into alarm – it was inappropriate for the gentleman to pull away first. In any case, he knew that he should open his mouth and make way for pleasantries, but he wasn’t able to think of anything to say

And suddenly, the music had begun once more.

There were excited whispers as the couples swiftly paired up again, eager for another round. Suzaku tried not to glance around in panic and search for Jacques to save him from this situation – _rule #42: Dancing twice with someone you have just met in a party is absolutely prohibited and is to be avoided at all cost_ – when the lady unexpectedly led him into the first step and the counting started again in his head. He had no choice but to take the lead from her and joined the other pairs.

“You dance very well, milord,” Lady Dunrossil said all of a sudden, sounding very calm despite the social blunder she had just, perhaps inadvertently, committed.

“Not half as well as milady,” he responded automatically, his lines were coming straight from the etiquette handbook which contents his tutor had hammered into his head. The fact that he was dancing _twice_ with such a distinguished lady hovered over his head like a nightmare coming true. This would obviously cause myriad of problems, so many that he couldn’t even begin to list them.

A social calamity. And this was his first party.

“May I interrupt, Lady Agatha?”

It took him one second too long to notice that his left hand was no longer holding hers and was held by another hand instead. And then he realised that they had stopped dancing and that his partner was blushing slightly, either out of embarrassment or awe he couldn’t tell.

“Certainly, Your Highness,” she said and quickly retreated from the dance floor. Suzaku was left looking at the Second Prince who was smiling innocuously at him as the couples continued to twirl around them.

“May I have this dance?”

There was a moment when he was absolutely certain that his heart had stopped beating and finally allowed him to die in peace, a perfect escape from this mortifying hell. On the next second, he discovered that he was, in fact, still very much alive and still very much stuck in said hell. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could work his throat and produce a decent word.

“But– Your Highness…“

“The answer is no?”

“I… I’m not sure if it’s appropriate.” Great. Now he was stuttering. _And why was that hand still holding his?_

“To say no? Indeed, it is most inappropriate after the vow you just made to me this afternoon,” the prince replied with a nonchalant voice which made Suzaku want to decimate something – mainly because the person he wanted to hurt was unfortunately the same one he had sworn to protect. Schneizel seemed to notice this as well and attempted to dissuade him.

“I was jesting, Suzaku-kun,” he said soothingly but still refused to let go of his hand, a fact which Suzaku was painfully aware of. The prince only went on, completely unperturbed by his knight’s distress. “That reminds me. Am I allowed to call you in a, say, more intimate manner from now on?”

And of course they had to discuss this subject in the middle of this crowd. Oh yes, he perfectly understood _why._

“Your Highness has the right to call me in any way he sees fit,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. And he just _knew_ he was going to regret it as soon as the last word had left his mouth.

“Well then, ’beloved’, perchance?”

Suzaku could literally feel the heat crawling to his cheeks. “I’m afraid the term is quite inapplicable in public, Sir,” he said in the stoniest tone he could manage.

“Ah, but I said nothing about using it in public either,” the prince replied, his voice an exemplary mirror of calmness. The amused smile curving his lips, however, belied how much he actually enjoyed the moment. “As a matter of fact, the occasion I was thinking is quite different. After all, a first night is supposed to be celebrated, is it not?”

There was a section in his little etiquette book which Suzaku would very much like to show the prince right now – _private matters are to be kept for oneself and not, under any condition, to be brought up in the company of others except one’s families and intimate friends!_ But since his book was regrettably not there with him, he could only stand there and suffer another embarrassing abuse to his face.

“If Your Highness demands it,” he answered in a fashion best described as an indistinct mumble.

“Excellent,” the prince smiled and brought his hand to his lips, kissing the back lightly. The ballroom ceased to exist, and so did the dancing couples whirling past them. Perhaps no one saw – or perhaps everyone saw – but Suzaku found that his concern over matters of such trifling nature was vanishing rapidly.

And then it was back to making another greeting to yet another noble. He slipped back into his role of a perfect knight and set to his duties, a smile firmly in place.

It was a palace of illusions – the noble lords smiling amiably at him, the beautiful ladies vying for his attention, the romantic treatments the Second Prince showered him with – but at least the warmth lingering still on the back of his hand, almost tangible despite the thick material of his gloves, was real enough.

For now.

**_End_**


	6. Knightly Duties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guide for a knight of imperial princes and princesses.

 

 

  
**A Knight of the Imperial Family: Six Fundamental Rules**  
By Lord Fironas Adelman  
Lord Protector and First Knight of His Majesty Gaius la Britannia, the Sixty-Fourth Emperor of Britannia

 

 

\-----

_6._   
_In the subject of knighthood, loyalty comes before everything. It is the law. It is the foundation of everything he does. It is the sword and the shield he wields. And in the name of loyalty shall a knight pledge his life to his lord._   
_[Chapter II: Of Loyalty; p.13]_

 

“What I don’t understand…”

General Bartley Asprius paused, fingers drumming on the paper-strewn surface of his desk to fill the silence his trailing words left untouched. Narrowed eyes evaluated the young man standing upright in front of him, a faultless picture of Britannia’s warrior and pride. But picture was a convenient façade and he knows that the red blood coursing under that tanned skin harboured a different kind of threat.

“I will not question His Highness’s decision,” the General said again, his voice rumbling low against naked walls and emptier room, spartan despite his elevated status, “but answer me this, young man. What is your motivation in accepting the appointment?”

The reply was that of a soldier, short and firm, sprinkled with as little emotion as possible. “It was His Highness’s wish.”

A china doll polished to perfection – how to speak, how to behave, how to measure the situation and execute inferences. Suzaku Kururugi would have been a masterpiece, had the situation been a little bit different.

“Yes, it might be His Highness’s wish,” the General said callously, “but I asked for your real reason behind this excruciating travesty.”

“Where my loyalty lies.” A blunt thrust, words cutting into the delicate veneer of his challenge. A well-seasoned veteran, General Bartley opted for a direct retreat instead of charging mindlessly head-on.

“Put it that way if you want,” he said, dignified even in flight. “Ambition has destroyed more powerful men than any other cause. I cannot risk the possibility of your ambition clashing with His Highness’s one day.”

There was a flash of anger in dark green eyes, sharp and implausibly intense, but it was quick to vanish before he could set any judgment on the source. Bartley wondered if derisions had lost their edge on this young knight, and could not decide whether the idea actually made him feel better or worse. It was admirable in a way, a proof of completely mastering oneself, but he still remembered a boy not so long time ago, with vengeance burning in his eyes and raw pain crackling beneath his broken voice, and the suspicion lingered.

“My loyalty is not so fickle so as to possibly endanger my lord and master in the future,” Kururugi answered with the same lack of emotion as displayed on his countenance. The General was almost impressed.

“That is if it really lies with your master,” he still persisted with the ruthless assault and inwardly congratulated himself when the first sign of frustration made its way through fissures of the glass mask. Imperfect still.

“His Highness has my loyalty and eternal servitude,” the young man announced, staring straight to his eyes – fierce, challenging, and the insignias decorating his blue coat suddenly felt like they were nothing. “This pledge, General, I did not make lightly.”

That pledge, Bartley reflected, was where the problem had reared its hideous head in the first place. Because of the pledge, Kururugi had in his hand such power as of yet unheard of in the hands of a Number. As the personal knight of the Second Prince, he would later command the Seventh Imperial Fleet and the Camulos Knight, a company directly under His Highness’s order. To trust that kind of authority… it was imprudent. Dangerously unwise. And the balding Army General had had enough personal experience to acknowledge that oppressed people made the worst kind of servant, often perfidious and deceitful.

“An Eleven should not climb this high,” he murmured and it was meant to hurt. The young man stood unflinching, like the jagged, rocky shore too long since used to ferocious storms and angry waves battering its outer shell.

“But Area 11 is now a part of the Britannian Empire, General,” he said steadily, only the slightest inflection in his voice to speak for that old, smouldering passion to his motherland. Bartley found himself mulling over this point.

“Then you wish not for independence?”

“I wish for the best for Japan,” he declared, proud, the worthy son of a sacred country blessed by the sun – and even its fallen remnants gracefully sank their claws into Britannia’s core. “My homeland cannot fight on her own between the Empire and Chinese Federation. But His Highness, I am convinced, will be a just ruler when the time comes.”

“Take care of your words, Sir Suzaku,” the General warned. “These walls have ears and we are trapped between the most treacherous yet.”

And then realised belatedly that the young man had managed to stand on the same ground as him and his fellow Britannians to his eyes. Surprisingly, the realisation felt straightforward, almost natural, like he had been expecting it.

“My apologies, Sir,” Kururugi bowed slightly, withdrawing his eyes to a more neutral ground. General Bartley once again found himself moved toward silent admiration.

After all, their situations were not that different. He had also decided to follow the Second Prince and while it had only been a matter of saving his neck almost a year ago, things were evidently quite different now.

Loyalty. Ever so ambiguous. After all, who could measure such thing?

 

 

\-----

_5._   
_A knight has many roles to fulfill: in court, society, military, and the last but not least, within the scoop of a more personal relationship with his lord. Some are indisputably more important than others, but when it is possible, balance has to be put into practice to the best of its ability._   
_[Chapter III: Of Roles; p.37]_

 

As a soldier, he wore his uniform with pride and stood on blood-stained battlefields, the air heavy with heat and smoke. He tried not to choke, and not to wonder how far it was from the condemned crossroad, how long it had been since his feet made their choice and taken this path. Because there was no room for regrets in this, or he would begin to wish and wishes were dangerous things.

As a boy, he curled in his sleep and fell into the arms of nefarious shadows, not daring to look up lest he might see his father’s face. Drawn, tired, and yet entirely devoid of anger. Only blank disappointment that fed on his soul like the vindictive eagle of Prometheus. But then the ship lurched and he jerked awake – and realised that it was just another nightmare he couldn’t outrun.

As a knight, he sat in Lancelot’s cockpit and watched as Knightmares burst into flames with each thrust of his swords, with each fire from his guns. It was a detached reality, beyond this shield of white steel, and only the distant proximity kept him sane. He destroyed to protect, killed to live, cried to smile, but war blurred all lines and he pledged his loyalty to the source of these timeless ironies.

As a lover, he lay in a darkened room, white sheet warm and damp under his sated body. Another set of breathing, close enough to send a shiver down his spine, ghosted over the heated skin of his cheeks, followed by whispers of sweet words that sounded too much like a lie wreathed in spring blooms. But he still clung to the other man like a dear lifeline and offered him his heart – or the ghost of it, since he was far too cowardly to retrieve that treacherous thing from Lelouch’s cold, dead hands and entrust it to anyone ever again.

As a Britannian, he treated his honorary status like a delicate ornament made out of glass, beautiful, fragile, serving its purpose well in this world of masquerades and fancy dresses and patrician manners. Society had their eyes on him, waiting for the smallest gaffe, and he stared back at them with hands fisted on his side. If winning and losing was all there was, then he would burn bridges, part seas and freeze hells to ensure his victory.

As a Japanese, he spoke to the mute walls of his room every morning, words that rolled smoothly on his tongue like the fine texture of honey – the language of deities and legends lost in the chaos of time. A small prayer, a small reminder to those memories of summer nights with their fireflies and thin sticks of fireworks that burned much too quickly to last a moment of laughter. And then he walked to the window, pulled the blinds up and looked to the east, witnessing as he did every morning the bloodless rebirth of the sun, the golden and silver and ashen, and he vowed that only such future deserved to court his motherland.

As Kururugi, he wore his name like the broken crest of an ancient aristocratic family long since fallen to ruin. The scorns in their eyes stung like the slow, languorous licks of fire on his raw flesh, but he stood proudly in front of the ranks of nobility. He was the traitor, the murderer of his own father, but the name would not bear shame because of him.

As Suzaku, he looked at his empty hands, the crisscross lines etched deep into calloused skin, and wondered what Lelouch or his father would say, if they had already forgiven him for what he had done. But then an arm draped over his stiff, naked shoulders, and long fingers, achingly pale in comparison, wrapped around his own, shielding his eyes from the sight – memory – of blood smeared on trembling palms, and he felt the colours dissolving. Because the chest against his back was beating with life and the voice that whispered to him was that of his lord.

_“I am here. I will protect you.”_

 

 

\-----

_4._   
_To properly address the members of Imperial Family and nobility, there are appropriate titles to be used. Emperors and Empresses are to be addressed as His or Her Imperial Majesty, as is the consort of the throne. The other members of Imperial Family hold the title of Imperial Highness, including princes, princesses, and other Imperial wives. As for the members of nobility, rank decides the title by which they will be addressed and thus this particular knowledge ought to be committed to memory._   
_[Chapter IV: Of Etiquette and Address; p.59]_

 

He was a tall man with rust-coloured hair and confident manner. His pale blue eyes were hard as cold steel and they lit up slightly as they came to rest on him. The firm set of his jaw perfected this picture of a battle-tempered soldier, augmented the prominence of his presence, so much that he almost shaded the imperial who stood in front of him into obscurity.

Suzaku felt his blood running cold. He would recognise the man anywhere, even if two years had passed since they had last seen each other, even if too many things had changed.

“So, you are Suzaku Kururugi?”

The question broke him out of his stupor and Suzaku forcibly tore his gaze away from the knight to the prince. At some thirty-odd of age, Odysseus di Britannia cut a less striking image than that expected of a crown prince – certainly nothing like his flamboyant, dashing second brother. Having only seen the eldest prince previously from afar, Suzaku couldn’t help but make a mental comparison between the two brothers before then reminding himself to bow courteously and answer the question.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The tall man behind the prince shifted and Suzaku felt his muscles stiffening in instinct. This corridor was deserted but for the three of them, and if Odysseus left then…

“My brother chooses his knight well,” the prince said again and there might be a condescending note in his voice, but Suzaku was too overwrought to take notice of anything but the unconcealed malice in icy blue eyes which hadn’t let go of their intent scrutiny of him. “I look forward to your performance in the Spring Tournament,” he added and glanced at the man behind him. “As does my knight, I am sure.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Even his voice remained the same haughty drawl that Suzaku remembered, the same rough inflection which had filled his sleeps with nightmares for weeks, and his agonizing hours of waking with memories of brutal pain and angry tears behind his eyes.

The man stepped forward and held out a gloved hand to him. “I have heard of your skill with the Knightmare Frame. It certainly will be an interesting tournament in April.”

Suzaku couldn’t tell how he finally managed to take the hand without flinching, or how he could bring himself to stay his feet and meet the eyes of the man who had violated him in every way imaginable. His voice trembled so badly and it was only and only the thought of his prince – lord, master, _everything_ – which allowed him to form any word at all.

“It will be my pleasure, Lord Kreindler.”

 

 

\-----

_3._   
_A knight of the Imperial Family has an extensive range of duties and responsibilities, as shall be listed and subsequently explained in the next section. The most important of these is of course to ensure the safety of his lord, often not only in the physical sense. Everything else should come second, including his own wellbeing and obligation to his family and kin, should he have them._   
_[Chapter V: Of Duties and Responsibilities; p.86]_

 

The clear, resonant notes permeated the tangled vines of his mind like steady ripples on water. The intricate riffs that seemed to flow with the wind wafting in from the open windows. Music befitting the halls of gods and angels, as glorious and stately as the player himself.

Eyes closed in pure enjoyment, he looked like a picture painted to perfection, one that hung in palace halls and recited of regal beauty. The glow of the afternoon sun brushed an ethereal touch over the spectacle, warming wisps of golden hair and pale skin unused to its glare. Graceful fingers danced over black-and-white keys, relishing the quick leaps of notes and changes of cadence as the pianoforte continued to sing. A refined, complex sonata.

It was like the story of an unworthy mortal yearning for the love of Apollo, the god of the Sun. A pitiful love story, one which never ended happily.

Suzaku sat with his hands tightly gripping the arms of his chair. He was getting used to these social functions and small gatherings, but the Crown Prince, quietly reveling in his brother's exquisite performance, was sitting directly in front of him and to his right was the imposing presence of his knight. And every time he saw the man was like a slap to his face, reminding him of his scars, the mud and filth he had drowned himself in, and how the recollection clashed so spectacularly with his present condition, where he was now, whom he had pledged himself to.

How could anyone so low, so dirty, ask for the smallest scrap of affection from a prince?

The round of applause marked the end of the performance and the crowd immediately rose to their feet. Words of admiration poured freely from their mouth, saturating the air like the sweet scent of rotten apples, so sweet that it almost made him sick, but the Second Prince accepted all these with the same innate gracefulness that underlined his every movement.

How could anyone so low, so dirty, pine for a being so inherently above him? It was insolence. Madness.

“Kururugi.”

The voice that made his heart stop beating and his insides curl in fear. Suzaku found that he couldn’t breathe when the man stepped close enough to breach his personal area. “I haven’t gotten the chance to say how nice it is to see you again. Since the Academy, wasn’t it?”

Fear turned to ice in his stomach, and he took one involuntary step back. “Lord Kreindler–“

“I wonder if you’ll visit me sometimes,” the taller man ignored his feeble attempt to build distance between them. “We can catch up and talk about old times.”

He should not be afraid anymore, but the cold whispers of this recurrent nightmare, and the sight of his prince, smiling gently like the sun on a cloudless winter day, were enough to send him scrambling to the nearest bathroom and turn out the content of his stomach.

 

 

\-----

_2._   
_A knight has to become the person closest to his lord, be it in the matter of trust or dependability, but even then, he must always remember his place and never expect more than what is required of him, for his purpose is to serve and only to serve._   
_[Chapter VI: Of Lines and Appropriateness; p.105]_

 

The first was a lady with long dark hair and a smile which so openly mocked the frozen shock written all over his face as she glided past him. The faint whiff of her perfume was tainted with a headier scent and Suzaku didn’t need to look inside to understand what had just happened behind the bedroom door.

The second was Lady Salinger, and she was lounging on the bed, her naked body modestly covered in silk sheets when he quietly entered by the prince’s order. Her smile was small and shy, and she was quite obviously uncomfortable by the situation, but for once Suzaku discovered that he didn’t care – not when his lord was still smiling indifferently like there was nothing wrong with this picture.

The third was a faceless, nameless woman as he waited for the prince behind the door leading to the drawing room, and pretended that the gasps and unrepressed moans he was listening at were something else entirely.

The fourth was when Suzaku forced himself to stop counting. And the fifth was when he tried to stop caring.

But the sixth was when he admitted that he could not. Because every time the prince pulled him into his arms, whispered words of affection caressing his ears like sweet poison, he would close his eyes and surrender and let the cold hand rip his heart out of his chest and smash it repeatedly to the wall. Again and again.

It was when he realised that he had fallen in love. So utterly. Foolishly. Irrevocably.

 

 

\-----

_1._   
_The words of thine lord are the law and there shall be no other but thine lord._   
_[Chapter VII: Of The Highest Order; p.134]_

 

She was stunning, as always. Her gown was white and ornately beautiful, almost as beautiful as the smile embellishing the small curve of her lips. In her left hand, between long digits of loose fingers was a closed fan decorated by pearls and silver tassels. The length of her pink hair gave colour and life to her monochrome surrounding, a garden that looked almost otherworldly in the white drape of snow.

Her eyes, he noticed, seemed like they were looking straight into his soul. As always.

“Clovis painted this just before he went to Japan,” the masculine voice brought him back to present attention. His lord, he discovered when he finally looked away from the painting, was studying him with a pair of contemplative eyes.

“It was not my intention to make you recall any painful memory, but I thought you would like to see it.”

“Oh.”

Suzaku hardly knew how to react to this sudden, small though it might be, display of thoughtfulness, especially on something as inconsequential as what he would or wouldn’t like to see. Euphie was a subject they had never discussed between them, but to show him a portrait of her made him think if the prince actually knew more than he had let on.

In the end, he settled for politeness – the safest of all – and bowed as low as courtesy demanded of him. “I am deeply honoured, Your Highness.”

The same gentle smile which had broken his heart more times than he bothered to count materialized easily on the handsome face. “A prince is allowed to indulge his knight every now and then, is he not?”

_Again._

Suzaku looked away and tried not to think about those ladies on the prince’s bed – or the bile rising to the back of his throat, or the fact that his heart was now hammering in his chest two times faster. And then perhaps he would be able to believe it.

Those lies. Little white lies to keep him there. It was deeply ironic if the prince really had no idea that his knight barely had any power over his own heart anymore.

“I want you to soar to the sky with me,” Schneizel suddenly said, and Suzaku knew that it was yet another distillation of those flames that burned too beautifully in order to beckon moths closer. He had tried to shield himself against them, to defend the last bits of his sanity, but nothing could ever prepare him for this kind of onslaught. Not when the look on the Second Prince’s eyes spoke to him of dreams and unfulfilled ambitions, far in the clutch of indefinite future, and an offer to share them.

“And I want you to be there, at my side when I take the world into my grasp.”

“As a knight.” It might be the bitter edge of accusation, or the echo of a foolish hope. Suzaku suspected that it was both.

The prince did not bother to suppress his smile. “I take it that you want to be something else other than a knight to me?”

And he was reminded to a story of an unworthy mortal loving the god of the sun, so utterly unattainable. But that, he realised, was not his place. Was not his role.

“No, my lord.”

“Good,” the note of approval was smooth – smooth enough to cut into his soul without hurting. “Then I suppose you agree to my proposal?”

He was a knight, first and foremost. Everything else should – _must_ – come second and wait for their respective turn.

“Yes,” Suzaku said softly, solemnly, “I shall be at Your Highness’s side. Until death himself comes and takes me.”

He imagined the violet eyes darkening. And then his body was crushed, his lips claimed, his skin marked, in front of the portrait of the woman he loved.

 

**End**

 


	7. Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small mistake and the length of the price he has to pay. And it’s only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy trying to make Schneizel a heartless bastard and then failing completely.

“He fell asleep.”

“In the middle of the Second Act. Can you believe it?”

Another voice, accentuated by a malicious laugh, responded, “Yes, actually. After all, if you spend the entire night trying to pleasure His Highness with your body…”

Jacques froze. And then he whipped around so fast that the three nobles ceased their gossiping at once. He couldn’t see the expression on his face – must be somewhere between cold displeasure and contempt – but it quickly served its purpose and drove them to escape from the area, retreating into the safety of the crowd. He followed their hurried movement with his eyes, still frowning while his mind processed everything he had just heard.

So that was what had happened.

Jacques swept his gaze across the congregate crowd. The hall of the opera house, decked chiefly in red and gold, was abuzz with murmurs of excited conversations as patrician members of the society indulged themselves in the newest gossip in town. The young man he was looking for was nowhere in sight, and neither was the Second Prince.

Then it must be true, what they were talking about. Jacques felt his hands curling into tight fists. _Damn it_. This was what they had been waiting, this huge gaffe which would allow them to openly spite and ridicule the new imperial knight. With the Spring Tournament just around the corner, Jacques could hardly think of a more unfortunate time for the blunder to occur.

And what in the name of the Emperor was Suzaku thinking, falling asleep during something as important as this?

He sighed and made his way to the door, ignoring the crowd and their despicable choice of topic – one would think that holding such high station in society, their taste would be considerably better. In truth, that kind of rumour had significantly decreased in the past few weeks, at least in public, and he had been hoping that it would disappear eventually. Now it only burned more furiously than ever.

Unbefitting of an imperial knight, they said. Very impolite. A proof to his inferior breeding. Undoubtedly would be a disgrace to the empire in the future.

Jacques seriously wanted to massacre them all. He had seen Suzaku, just before the _Overture_ , looking thinner and more tired than he remembered ever seeing. His crush – or whatever it was – might have abated somewhat over the passing months, but it didn’t mean that he had stopped looking at the younger man or wanting to protect him in a somewhat more older-brotherly fashion now. But he knew that weariness couldn’t be an excuse. It indicated physical unfitness, which was thoroughly unacceptable if you were a knight to the member of the Imperial Family.

And no matter how unbearably tired one was, manners always came first. Incivility was a sin.

Standing in the cool night air with his coat clasped in one hand, he contemplated calling the younger man, but then quickly rejected the thought after a few deliberations. Later perhaps. Suzaku had his master to deal with first.

Jacques couldn’t help a grimace. It wouldn’t be a pretty conversation.

\-----

The car was encased in silence, the kind which shook and rumbled in the depth of ice. Words had the power to hurt, but even then, there were times when expressions confined in letters and speech were not enough. And then silence became punishment.

And it never failed.

His knight was a very straightforward person. He took comfort in voices and spoken words and other physical manifestations, either too naïve to read between the lines or incapable of doing so. But he could not stand silence. Not when it was wrought of so much guilt and perhaps, blame. He could never tell – he couldn’t read between the lines – and this lack of knowledge was driving him mad. It was evident in the way he sat, stiff, muscles tense beneath the white-and-gold ensemble he was lavishly dressed in. He was repeatedly biting his lips, words hovering at the edge of his tongue and yet failing to awaken his voice. He waited – for reproach, for expression of displeasure, for a more tangible kind of punishment.

But the prince was content to let the silence linger while he dealt with his own private turmoil. The blunder was certainly not impossible, but it was unexpected. The Duke of York was the nephew of the late 87th Emperor, and for his knight to fall asleep during an opera which the duke had so generously invited them to was a mistake so grave and as far as he knew, unprecedented.

The prince was disappointed, immensely so, but it was not the extent of his disappointment which disturbed him. It was the fact that he was _angry._

Toward what he was less certain. After all, anger was an emotion he had not tasted firsthand for a very long time, this kind of sweltering anger which made his blood rush in his veins and compelled him to exercise more self-control than usually considered necessary. He was a ruler, powerful, steady on his emotional throne, but this anger was unfamiliar. He would have compared it to the sense of helplessness pooling in the pit of his stomach at seeing his mother in the evening before her death, eyes dull and flat as her husband left the room without so much as a glance at her, if he had not purged the memory from his mind.

They continued their wordless company, joined merely by silence and the quiet hum of the machine. It might be impatience, or the wish to escape from the obligation to dissect and analyze this arcane form of emotion, even for a moment, which made him reclaim his verbal sword at last.

“I must admit that I’m very disappointed,” he intoned and watched his knight flinch in his seat. Wide green eyes flicked toward his direction, the closest to fear he had ever seen from this young man, but obviously he was still brave enough to open his mouth and reply.

“I truly apologise, Your Highness,” his voice echoed in the empty expanse, small, like a whimper of a frightened animal. The prince suspected that Suzaku might not be much more than that at the moment.

 _Apologise._ He smiled, but it was slight, cold. Apologies changed nothing, and certainly not the state of his anger.

“I have no need for excuses,” he said and left the words to hang between them like a broken cord as he turned his eyes once more to the car window, watching light and shadow flash by, both victims to velocity.

He sat on his throne, powerful, untouchable, and yet he was angry.

\-----

If regret had claws to kill, he would have died thousands times over. Or more.

Suzaku sat on his bed, eyes staring at the white coat draped on back of his chair, mind a few worlds away. It was almost repetitious to a point. Regret was something he had grown up with, something he had took to bed and breathed in tandem with for the best part of his life. This thought that he had failed in some way or another – to be a son, a friend, a knight – the serpent that coiled at his feet and brought his entire world to a standstill. All which was left was this silence that mocked him and his failure.

He never took failures well. Euphie, Lelouch, and then Nunnally. Each one locked him in the death grip of a new pair of shackles and they didn’t let go – he only forgot, but even those moments of blissful oblivion were ephemeral. These debts remained unpaid.

And yet, he was still stupid enough to fall asleep while trying to court the Duke of York’s favor.

Suzaku ran a hand through his hair, the fingers still trembling slightly under the onslaught of emotions. Moments like this were when he wished there was a shooting ground within walking distance where he could vent his frustration and anger and who knows what else boiling poisonously under his skin. To run away from that memory of cold disappointment in his lord’s eyes, etched deep in his mind, and that toneless voice haunting the rest.

He didn’t quite remember since when this obsession had begun. Wanting to please, wanting to do things right for the sake of a smile, a hint of approval on that regally handsome face. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore: fixation, love, loyalty, or perhaps a mixture of those three. And maybe a touch of madness to tie them all up into this slow, choking feeling that burned him alive.

It shouldn’t be this complicated. Loyalty only had one face – it was the rest that destroyed reason and common sense. There was no helping it, they said. It was a disease.

And how was he going to stay by the prince’s side until the end if he couldn’t even handle something like this?

Rising from the bed with a hurried rather than determined air, Suzaku reached for the white coat and slipped it on, his eyes looking for a numerical translation of the hour from the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. A quarter past one. There was a slight chance that the prince was still awake, and if he wasn’t, he could just return to his room and wallow in his misery some more. Neither was the lesser evil.

The palace stood silent in the deepening night, cold, majestic, impervious – everything an imperial palace ought to be. His footfalls made an ominous echo against gilded walls and empty corridors braided together into an extravagant imitation of a labyrinth. Suzaku had no idea what he was going to do. To explain perhaps, even if there was nothing to explain. The last few days had been hectic and he had been too tired to focus on the performance. It was his fault through and through – there was no use looking for another explanation.

Both dread and relief flooded his chest at the sight of two guards standing on duty in front of the prince’s study. Neither smiled at his arrival, but one of them nodded slightly, an indication that he was free to enter.

He would have turned back and run, if the idea of such cowardice didn’t make him cringe.

The study was illuminated softly in a pale golden glow, a solitary lamp perching on the desk the only source of light in the medium-sized room. The prince sat on a high-backed chair behind the desk, his pen moving languorously across a piece of paper in a flourish of signature. He did not look up when his knight entered, although Suzaku imagined that he briefly saw the eyes flickering to his direction as he bowed and made his greeting.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

“What do you need?” The question was curt and the speaker did not remove his attention from the document he was either approving or disapproving. Suzaku clenched his fists at the sight.

“I come to apologise, Sir.”

“You already have.” Another flourish, the tip of the pen scratching dryly against paper, but not a hint of acknowledgment to his presence other than a voice entirely devoid of nuance.

Suzaku struggled to keep his emotions in check and his voice level. “I…feel like I haven’t properly expressed my…“ He swallowed, sentences tumbling against each other, spluttering to death, and disappearing from the tip of his tongue faster than a blink of an eye. Months of training himself into a worthy knight, a worthy member of the Britannian Empire went out of the window, and he was left with nothing in the grip of desperation, only the blunt, painful truth.

A deep, shaky breath, and he slowly gathered the remnants of his wits. “I really apologise, Your Highness, it’s… the mistake will never happen again.”

“But the damage is done.” Violet eyes finally looked up and pinned him with a hard gaze. “What do you intend to do about it?”

Offering his head on a silver platter would hardly help in this case, so Suzaku chose the only other option he could think of. “I shall apologise to Lord Mirthyne tomorrow.”

A humorless smirk, almost disparaging despite the smoothness of its appearance, quirked the corners of the prince’s lips. “Do you think he will simply accept and let the matter slide?”

“I…” He breathed in sharply, caught in the pain that somehow, he had failed once more. “No, Sir.”

There was a moment of silence, so taut that it could snap under the slightest touch. Suzaku waited, for the next blow, for the next batch of chastisement. The prince returned his writing pen to its crystal holder and leant back against his chair.

“You will go tomorrow and deliver your apology, along with an invitation for the duke to sit with the Imperial Family at the tournament,” he finally said. “I believe we still have several seats open.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why haven’t you slept yet?”

It stung, the way the question inquired for his condition and yet still falling so flat on his ears. “I…couldn’t sleep,” Suzaku answered slowly and tried not to wince at how pathetic it sounded in the desperate clutch of his feeble voice. The prince studied him, the expression on his face inscrutable.

“Come here.”

The order made his muscles tense almost immediately. He tentatively approached but stopped a reasonable distance away from the chair. It was his lord who pulled him closer, the grip on his arm firm, almost to the point of hurting.

“Never disappoint me again, Suzaku.” His voice was low but sharp. “Never.”

This close, Suzaku could see hints of fatigue on the prince’s face, and if they didn’t pile more guilt onto the towering heap inside him, then they must have tumbled it over.

“Yes, my lord,” he answered, as firm as his unsteady voice allowed.

The hand on his arm snaked up and pulled him down, and the feel of the prince’s lips on his almost made him moan low in his throat. He managed to tone it down into a soft gasp, but the way his fingers curled on fine, silky fabric betrayed everything. The surprise, or relief, or something else entirely, almost sank him to his knees if it wasn’t for the fact that an arm had wound itself tightly around his waist. It felt like drowning, he vaguely reflected, and felt himself letting go, tension slowly melting from his body.

When they pulled apart, he already had one knee supporting his entire weight on the chair – right between the other man’s legs, he couldn’t help but notice and flush slightly at. His other foot barely touched the floor and one of his hands rested against the cushioned back of the chair, but this was as far as his observation went because at the next moment, the prince already spoke again.

“Stay with me tonight.”

His mind flew to a plethora of indecent thoughts rather quickly and Suzaku would have been ashamed if he wasn’t so immersed in his attempt to pull away. “Your Highness, I’m not sure if it would be wise–“

“Stay with me tonight and I may consider forgiving you,” his lord interrupted and for the first time in what seemed to be the longest night in his life, it carried the old trace of amusement he had been so used to hear.

And then, of course, he had to obey. “If that is what my lord wishes,” he murmured in resignation.

There was a hint of a smile, although it didn’t quite reach those beautiful violet eyes. The prince rested a hand on the side of his neck, the thumb caressing his jaw in languid strokes, and then said, almost plaintively, “You look tired.”

“As does Your Highness.” The reply left his mouth before he could help it and it earned him a flash of a more pronounced smile.

“This will not be the last,” he spoke softly – and for once, his cultured tone was riddled with splinters of emotions instead of imperturbable calmness. “From now on there will be more pressure, more jealousy, more _hate_. It will not be easy to lead the charge and if you wish to be the commander of my entire army, these are only a fraction of what you have to face.”

“I understand,” Suzaku felt himself nodding, giving in. “But I have no intention to back down. Put me up front and I will be Your Highness’s sword and shield.” He paused, hand slipping from the older man’s shoulder, and then added in a more solemn voice, “I will not disappoint again.”

“All for your country?”

The question was spoken softly, but it shook him to the core. For his country. Yes, of course. There was no other reason why he would fight, was there?

But the prince saw through his moment of indecision and only smiled before then rising to his feet, pushing him away in process.

“When the time comes, I shall grant your wish,” he said and it explained nothing, but Suzaku was too afraid to ask for one.

**_End_ **


	8. Of Falling and Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spring Tournament and what it entails.

**Day 1**

There was something to be said about fighting for your lord’s honour in front of those who really mattered in the realm.

In a sense, they were gladiators – staggeringly glorified gladiators, riding equally glorified horses to battle each other in this _glorified_ coliseum. Knightmares were their weapon and armour, all equal and uniformed to the point where the only thing which would make a difference, significant or infinitesimal, was their own individual skill. A match to see who the better fighter was.

But they were also knights, honourable knights of the empire, defenders and protectors of their master – and the match suddenly got a whole new meaning.

Suzaku was not worried. When it came down to it, piloting a Knightmare was all about reflex and gut instincts – theories and simulations could only do so much in a real combat – and he knew that in this department, he was quite possibly inferior to none. It wasn’t a confidence built in one night, but when someone had survived more battles than he could count, a certain kind of conviction sprang forth on its own. Invincible, it would have said if his intrinsic trait of humbleness hadn’t overpowered the rest.

But ‘never underestimate thy enemy’ was also a rule he firmly believed in. Especially in this tournament, where his opponents were undoubtedly Britannia’s elites, proudly wearing the badge of the Imperial Family. It was more than just their name at stake. It was their master’s, and true knights lived and died for their master.

This was where they rose and fell, a tournament caught in the first stitches of spring, marking the end of a long, hard winter. It was a field of fortune, theirs to claim and inherit, or waste and forever regret. A filter of some sort: those fit for survival and those doomed to obscurity.

But when the opening salvo, and eventually the tumultuous rounds of applause died down, all that was left was the quiet drone of his Sutherland. Pride, political importance was a faraway thought. It was a sacred ground, here, in the middle of this circular stadium, when they stood facing each other and returned to the most innate character of their selves. Two soldiers, a match, and winning or losing.

His opponent was a young man not much older than himself, the knight of the tenth prince, but he moved with the confidence of a war god. A straight aim to his chest followed a split of a second later – to end the match quickly, even in the grip of recklessness – and he would have succeeded if piloting a Knightmare were not about reflexes and gut instincts. Suzaku managed a leap back, only far enough to escape the wild talons, and then a surge forward to trap the sustaining cord in his Sutherland’s grasp, and a well-aimed kick to disable the motion control.

It took eight seconds for the referee to notice that one of the contenders had lost his ability to move. The silence which ensued was deafening, but Suzaku turned toward the north end of the stadium and saw a smile that spoke of pride on his master’s face, and for him it was more than enough.

\-----

“Twenty seconds!”

“Claire–“

“Twelve if that idiot of a referee realised what had happened faster,” the red-haired young woman went on, paying no heed to his negligible attempt of interruption. “But twenty is good enough. Only Marianne the Flash had ever done anything like that before.”

Jacques, who was sprawled on his bed and completely ignorant of the small wrinkles he was causing his ceremonial attire, grinned widely. “It was obvious that no one saw that coming,” he said, “and certainly not your opponent.”

“I bet he thought all those stories about you were bullshits,” Claire declared with a series of lively flails of arms, almost toppling over the chair she was sitting on. “Did you see his face when he got out from his Sutherland? I swear I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.”

“It was only the preliminary,” Suzaku said reasonably.

“And you have a deaf ear when it comes to people praising you,” she accused hotly, glaring as she did so. He offered her an apologetic smile. If there was a hint of gratitude in it, it was accidental and honest at the same time. Friendship was precious in this place, a haughty, gilded cage that decayed even the most innocent heart with its political intrigues. No one could say that he wasn’t lucky.

Now, if only that luck prevailed until three days later.

“ _Economic Growth in the Areas._ ” Jacques flipped a book which was lying next to the pillow, staring incredulously at the cover. “What are you doing reading a book in economy?”

“Because His Highness will return to Japan soon,” he responded, snatching the book away from Jacques. “You know it won’t do for the knight of the Governor-General to look stupid and uninformed.”

There was a moment of silence where one could count the seconds ticking away. And then Claire opened her mouth, sounding more than a little bit awed, “You really _are_ in love, aren’t you?”

Suzaku was saved from the obligation to react by the polite but insistent knocking on his door. He rose to his feet quickly, sparing himself the need to see that shit-eating grin on Claire’s face – he didn’t bother to glance at Jacques, the snicker was a telltale enough. And no, he was not blushing. He just…

…realised that he should have ignored the knocking and dealt with Claire’s shit-eating grin. In front of his door stood an imperial aide, and not just any aide because he was the one who usually…

“Good evening, Lord Kururugi,” the man greeted, holding out a neatly folded note to him. Suzaku glared at it, wishing that somehow the undesirable item would disappear if he dealt enough damage on it. Sadly, no such thing occurred.

“Thank you,” he forced himself to murmur and reluctantly took the piece of paper. In theory, paper really shouldn’t be different one to another, but he felt like he could recognise this particular kind – the fine texture, the shade of colour, or the faint scent perhaps. A more logical part of his brain pointed out that it was just his own paranoia speaking because he _knew_ what was written in there.

“A more personal celebration?” Claire sounded like she was barely trying to contain her amusement – and Suzaku was barely trying to contain his displeasure at this lack of restraint, but _if only_ blood could stop surging to his face.

“You never know,” Jacques replied, and his straight face spoke of nothing but volumes of trouble – big, red, complete-with-wailing-siren trouble. “Suzaku may just be invited over to discuss the finer points of Area 69’s economic growth.”

Both lieutenants had escaped into safety before he could respond in a drastically more murderous fashion.

\-----

 

**Day 2**

“Go back to your mud hole, Eleven whore.”

The voice was cold, venomous through the line, through the mist of sleep still curtaining his mind, and its abrupt disappearance sank like a knife into his soul. In its place were short, sharp beats of death, filling the silence in his ear as he, numb with shock, listened to the same spiteful voice echoing in his head.

He wasn’t supposed to be shocked. It wasn’t unexpected, not even in the slightest sense. After all, who wanted to see an Eleven…

“Suzaku.”

The voice, and then the light touch on his bare arm made him flinch. Literally. The cell phone slipped from his numb grasp to his lap and the silence that suddenly filled his ears was sharp. The fingers on his arm withdrew, and he wasn’t quick enough to whirl around and undo the mistake – always a second too late, always a moment too slow. The prince looked at him and the weight of his gaze lingered between long drums of silence, eloquent enough to inquire without the aid of words.

He swallowed, fingers clutching the sheets that pooled at his waist, and forced himself to open his mouth. “I’m sorry, Schneizel-sama.” His voice came out firmer, steadier than he had dreamt possible. “I was… thinking about today’s tournament.”

Suzaku didn’t know how much his face was betraying, but he could tell that there wasn’t even a mask anymore between the world and the storm that was his swirling emotions. He had never really been able to lie to the older man and this morning didn’t seem to be any different.

But Schneizel dismissed it and reached for his hand instead, pulling him to settle back in the pillows. Suzaku drew in a sharp breath when the prince’s face came close to his own, a gentle look that never failed to make his heart skip a beat softening his eyes. “It isn’t like you to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” he blurted out, trying to fight an urge to pull away when a finger touched his cheek, and then two. The words spoken in the phone were still clear inside his mind, drops of ink-black poison trickling slowly into those violet pools which were his fleeting sanctuary. He couldn’t help but wonder why they still had the power to hurt, after all these times.

“Today is the second round,” he added quietly. “I will have to give my best.”

His master smiled, and for a moment it seemed to be mocking him – but then Suzaku reminded himself that he was looking at the world through a murkier glass after that call.

“I know your best will win me the tournament,” Schneizel said and bent down to kiss him. Suzaku closed his eyes, accepting, lips against lips, concentrating on the kiss instead of that accursed cell phone, cold plastic between his thigh and the bed. He should treasure them, these silent hours of the morning when everything was perfect, innocent, when he could convince himself that his prince was truly in love with him and nothing else but their being there together mattered.

“I will arrange for a new number to be given to you,” Schneizel said when they had pulled apart. “One with better security measures.”

“Your Highness, it isn’t necessa–“

“I insist.” The older man’s tone of voice stopped his protest, and so did the gentle fingers threading in his hair. “I want your full concentration on the tournament.”

Suzaku tried to smile, but all he could manage was a sort of frown. He listened to his breathing turning low and sharp, and then muttered, “They will never stop.”

“Not in the near future, no,” Schneizel agreed, “but you are my knight and you will last far past that.”

It could be an expression of hope for the capricious future, or an illustration of trust, or mere twisting of words to keep his loyalty in place. Right now Suzaku was not interested to know – lies could as well be truths when everything was perfect. The day was young, not yet tainted by chaos and intrigues of palatial life, and there were still a few minutes before Klaus, the prince’s manservant, arrived with breakfast and their respective duties began.

He dared himself to hope. “I shall win, Schneizel-sama,” he promised, promises that tasted sweeter in the blush of intimacy.

“I have no doubt,” the prince murmured, smiling like a benign lord and indulgent lover both, and then proceeded to make love to him again.

\-----

He felt their resentful gaze, burning holes into his rigid back as he made his way back to the waiting room. It was crowded still with knights waiting for their turn, although the disgusted expression on their face might as well say that they were only waiting there to scorn his victory. Suzaku did everything to disregard them, eyes set to the floor a few paces ahead, feet alternating steadily between quiet steps. He had the choice to leave – after all, he had won his round – but duties of an imperial knight didn’t stop at winning. Behind these proud walls of an empire, even genuine deeds often found themselves powerless in front of appearances.

He seated himself in an empty chair, pretending to watch the ongoing match displayed by a large screen at the middle of the room. Three Sutherlands were exchanging blows in the centre with the fourth circling outside range like a hawk, waiting for the right momentum to attack. It was Kreindler, Suzaku realised and tried to ignore the bile rising in his throat. He had seen the other man fight, the way he commanded his Knightmare like it was an extension of his limbs, and the swift, ruthless victory it had yielded. If piloting was about reflex and gut instincts, then Kreindler had mastered both to such perfection that…

Snapping his eyes hut, Suzaku told himself that he shouldn’t be intimidated – it was the first sign of losing, the thunder before the dawn of the battle. Most of the times, it was enough to ascertain defeat, but the hostile atmosphere in the room didn’t help. He looked down at his fingers, still numb from gripping the control too tightly, and wished that he could remember.

Seconds of blank void, when his three opponents had charged at him with intent not only to win but also to annihilate. He had reacted quickly enough to evade the combined attack, and blinked. Once, a brief detachment from pressure and reality, and in front of his eyes was a spectacle of destruction. Pieces of Sutherlands littering the stadium, and eyes that looked at him with loathing – except now it was streaked with fear, pale and cold and bitter in comparison.

Something had happened in that blink of an eye, something which might not have been his doing at all. The classic contradiction. Was the deed his to claim, if he had no recollection to it?

“It was cowardly.”

He looked up with a start and found a tall woman standing a few paces away, her long dark blue hair, the colour of a clear night sky, tied neatly behind her back. He remembered that disastrous opera night, and the curious but condescending look on her face as they had tentatively shaken hands after being introduced.

“What they did to you,” Asthal Callenheim, the knight of the First Princess, continued and her voice rose above the stiff silence enveloping the room. “The purpose of a four-way combat is to see how one deals with multiple enemies and the complexities of the situation. But they went after you right from the start, all three of them. Good thing you showed them their place.”

“It was luck more than anything, Lady Callenheim,” Suzaku answered, although the little smile he tried to fabricate felt like a painful grimace instead. Even he couldn’t tell if it was a lie or something else less repulsive.

“Was it?” A darker expression twisted her face. “I don’t appreciate false modesty, Kururugi.”

“It was modesty,” he admitted, throat tightening painfully around the words, “but false it was not.”

There was a sneer on her face, scorn in her eyes, and Suzaku was reminded how this empire hated modesty like it was the daughter of hell herself – _be proud, be firm, or you won’t survive_. “Let’s see what tomorrow will bring,” she said and turned around to leave, her tread heavy and firm across the room. Kreindler had won, he noticed when the sound of cheering coming from the screen led his gaze back to one Knightmare, standing proudly at the centre of the stadium.

“Survive,” he whispered, as the word echoed in his head.

\-----

 

**Day 3**

She gracefully jumped down from her Sutherland, her dark-green pilot suit a stark contrast against the bright blue sky. Suzaku was unsure what he was to do for a few tentative seconds, ears straining against the drone of the Knightmare to catch any kind of reaction from the crowd. There was none. Then Lady Callenheim looked up, eyes sharp, and he followed her example to climb down from his Sutherland.

Dust and gravels shifted beneath his feet as he planted them firmly on the ground. The female knight approached him but remained silent, the fire from their earlier match not dying yet in her eyes. Suzaku found himself holding his breath.

“I lost,” she said – _declared_ – when she stopped in front of him, close enough for some parts of his mind to dutifully notice that she stood a little taller than he was. “Your fighting skill outclasses mine, at least that much is clear from this match.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but she was quicker to add, “And if you’re going to say that it was luck, I will take it as an insult.”

Suzaku would have smiled at the intensity of her warning, if the oppressive silence swamping the stadium hadn’t locked away whatever sense of humour he still had. But Lady Callenheim ignored his lack of response and continued in a more subdued voice, “You should be proud. Only two other people have ever managed to score a win against me in this kind of match. Not to mention, this is your first tournament.”

“I only fight for my master,” he answered, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Don’t we all?” she said with a casual shrug. “My point is you should be proud that your devotion withstands even my sword. His Highness must be really pleased with your achievement.”

He couldn’t resist a glance to the north side of the stadium, wishing that he could see the expression on his prince’s face. “I don’t know.”

Her hard features softened slightly. “Then you should find out,” she said decisively and held out a gloved hand. “A knight has to become the person closest to his lord, does he not?”

The words, taken directly from the book which content he had taken to heart, touched a smile to his lips. “Thank you, Lady Callenheim,” he took her hand, returning the firm grip. She smiled in response and it was as sharp, quick as a bolt of lightning, and he realised that this was what the prince truly wished from him, this kind of acceptance, slow and grudging though it might be.

A smile might not be much, but it was one step closer.

\-----

The world glowed bright crimson, and when he looked up, it almost seemed as if the clouds were blazing with fire. At the feet of the sky, the sun was setting, bathing colourful awnings and roads crowded by people with its rich, vibrant red. And then there was the hubbub of conversations, vendors and buyers hawking and haggling over pieces of objects displayed on plain wooden tables or fancy glass cases.

All of the hustle and bustle reminded him to the festivals in warm summer nights, with fireworks erupting across black drape of clouds and how it had seemed, for one breathtaking moment, that the world had burst into millions of colours. Britannia had her own beauty, it was undeniable, but Japan… Japan was different.

Suzaku realised that he was – of course – rather prejudiced in this subject.

“We don’t need an Eleven.”

There was nothing that disrupted a moment like a wholehearted insult. He could feel blood turning to ice in his veins as the murmur of conversations died down, leaving only an awkward silence to paint the deepening twilight. Something told him to walk on and ignore the insult, but another part of him wanted a confrontation. He shouldn’t have taken all those abuse lying down, not when he was already so close to winning the Spring Tournament and such glory wasn’t a petty achievement–

“Come with me.”

The hand that seized for his elbow was firm and Suzaku found himself falling into steps next to a very pretty young woman dressed in light blue. “Milly-san,” he breathed out in surprise, recognition dawning.

She tilted her head to look at him, disapproval shading her smile. “Please, Lord Kururugi, we are old friends, aren’t we?”

He smiled in return. “Yes, we are, Countess Asplund.”

Her clear laughter rose and filled his heart with warmth. “The title isn’t too bad actually,” she said, a twinkle in her clear blue eyes, “but the wedding isn’t until September, so you’ll have to be content with ‘Milly’ for a while. Do you have anything in particular to do this evening?”

“Not really, but…”

“Excellent,” she slipped her arm around his. “I hate to look around alone and this square is so big. Will you accompany a lonely lady, o Sir Knight?”

Suzaku found himself chuckling as he made a small bow. “I will be most honoured.”

Milly smiled and it reminded him of many things. Mostly it was Lelouch and his failure to protect Nunnally, but when they walked like this, arm in arm amidst columns of various stands that reminded him too much of his homeland festival, it was almost impossible to drown himself in the murky side of the memory. Milly’s voice was like the steady ripple of a brook, the kind that drifted and soothed as shadows lengthened and the day grew old. Suzaku realised that he never actually noticed it until now.

“You did great in the match this afternoon,” she said as they made a turn into an alley crowded by flower and jewellery sellers.

He looked at her uncertainly. “So you came here to watch the tournament?”

“Yes. Lloyd-san invited me, as his fiancée, to watch the Spring Tournament with him. And I need to meet his family at some point, so I thought why not just get it over with. Sooner is better anyway.”

Her faint discomfiture on the topic brought a sympathetic smile to his lips. “I hope it went well.”

“Better than I expected, actually,” she answered truthfully. “His family is… I don’t want to sound disrespectful, but I do think the closest word to describe them is ‘odd’. I would never have thought that they were a prominent aristocratic family.”

That explained the eccentricity of his former superior, Suzaku reflected in some amusement. “And the wedding will be in September?”

“It was decided a few days ago.” The hand on his arm tightened slightly. “Will you come?”

“Of course,” Suzaku replied, surprised at the sudden earnest note in her voice. But then he realised that many of her friends probably wouldn’t be able to make it – some of them were definitely not going to, thanks to him – and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Milly flashed him a subdued smile. “It’s just… sometimes it still feels strange, to marry a man who knows very little about me.”

“I guess it requires lots of courage,” he said tentatively.

“Well, I don’t exactly have someone in particular, so for me anybody is fine.” She laughed again, but it sounded strained and her gaze was still pinned to the formation of flagstones laid out under their unhurried footsteps. “And they say love grows in the end, right?”

Suzaku glanced at her. “I suppose,” he responded neutrally. There was something about Milly that reminded him of himself. He understood duty better than anyone else – she to her family, he to his country – but perhaps he was slightly luckier in that regard. At least his lord was also the person who held his heart.

Although of course, it didn’t necessarily mean that he would be happier in the end.

The rest of the evening went by in a companionable fashion. Milly stopped often before many jewellery stands, admiring intricate silver designs and glittering gold earrings, even threatened to buy him some – for the sake of friendship, she reasoned to his unbridled horror. In the end, she bought herself a necklace and a beautiful fan – _since your victory tomorrow is only a matter of time and there’s bound to be a celebration, these will go well with my green dress, and are you sure you don’t want that bracelet?_

She made him laugh, in a way he hadn’t in months, when she did buy the bracelet and slip it into his jacket pocket. She reminded him to Ashford and Ashford had been a happy time before everything went wrong, one of the very few bright splotches on his otherwise dark canvas of life. But even at that point, Lelouch had been Zero and sometimes Suzaku wondered if he wasn’t only deceiving himself by trying to believe that it had been a happy time.

Even his memories were built on lies, he reflected bitterly, but then Milly linked her arm with him again and he felt the bitterness melt away and smiled at her.

“I’ve been getting death threats,” she said when they had once again blended with the milling crowd.

Suzaku’s eyes went wide. “You’ve been getting death threats?”

“Yes,” she answered solemnly but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “From your fans it seems. That is Lady Estella de Landtz, yes?”

Suzaku felt like he had missed an important part of the discussion. He looked at the direction she had indicated with her new fan. “Yes, but what…?”

“Because I’m holding to your arm like this.” The straight-faced look on her face broke into a broad grin. “You still can’t take flatteries, can you?”

It might be that thing of being with a friend – not just a friend, because Claire and Jacques were both his friends but there was something about Milly, maybe her ties with his past – and Suzaku found himself laughing again. Happiness never lasted long in his life – and tomorrow he would face Kreindler of all people – but who knows, perhaps everything would still be all right in the end.

“I’m glad you’re here, Milly,” he said, tightening his hand on hers.

She smiled sweetly. “I know.”

\-----

 

**Day 4**

“No wonder you can climb so high.”

Suzaku knew he should ignore it, that mocking, spiteful voice that echoed in his cockpit. His hands were cold and clammy with sweat under the gloves, and there was havoc in his head, resounding like war drums in the eve of battle. When Kreindler made a low sweep with his Knightmare’s sword, Suzaku had no choice but to sacrifice an arm to avoid instant defeat.

“Tell me, how often do you let His Highness bed you?” The voice came again, now tinted with specks of satisfaction. “Every night? Four times a night like I once did?”

It was followed by a harsh bark of laughter that made Suzaku draw in a shaky breath. He shouldn’t have listened to it. Kreindler had been losing, that was why he resorted to this tactic. It wasn’t difficult to configure the communication link between the two Sutherlands, and now here he was, a sitting duck to a volley of insults. If this continued, not only victory would slip away from his grasp, but also the precarious balance he had built around himself, and then his lord…

…his lord…

It wasn’t strength at all that suddenly surged in his limbs and muscles. Strength would burn hotly and lift his spirit, but this one settled in his stomach like lead and ruthlessly pounded him awake. It was more like a cold realisation that failures wouldn’t be tolerated. He had come too far, it would be unforgivable.

Maybe it was determination – not to fail, not to disappoint.

One arm missing and wheels close to falling apart, he spurred his Sutherland on with gritted teeth and made a high, decisive leap.

\-----

They all passed him in a blur, wrapped in the mist of euphoria – the ceremony, the tense silence as he walked up to the podium, followed by rounds of hesitant and then hearty applause. The Emperor fastened a medal on his pilot suit, a firm hand shaking his smaller one, and Suzaku found himself kneeling in front of his prince and kissing the back of a gloved hand.

It was even more unreal than a dream. He saw Kreindler’s face and it wasn’t the cold, stony hatred that got to him, only the sense that it looked distant as if they were separated by miles instead of a few steps. The smiling faces and polite congratulations were all the same, dulled by something else more powerful – perhaps the knowledge that he hadn’t failed this time.

Everything only started to become less dreamlike, the mist slowly dispersing when he felt a strong arm around his waist and his mouth being kissed senseless. A small, thoroughly insignificant part of his mind indignantly exclaimed that he should at least feel embarrassed about doing something like this in the hallway where someone could pass by and see them, but the rest decided that they didn’t care.

“And you were worried about the second round,” the prince reminded him, his voice profuse with amusement.

Suzaku couldn’t help a small, breathless laugh. “It was circumspection, Your Highness,” he answered demurely. “I hope I did not disappoint.”

“I cannot see how you can possibly disappoint in this situation,” Schneizel said, running his fingers appreciatively along his lower back. Suzaku suddenly wished that his pilot suit wasn’t so skintight – or at least all those adrenaline could be channeled _elsewhere_ – but the prince only laughed and kissed him again.

This second kiss ended quickly when a pair of guards made their usual round in the hallways. Suzaku managed to secure an escape after a promise for a dance – not at the party, but in the safe confines of a bedroom since privacy was an absolute for this particular dance, the prince had implied mildly – and made his way back to his quarters with a smile. Not even the prospect of spending the rest of the evening being half-heartedly congratulated by snotty nobles and their giggling daughters could remove it from his face.

At least until an Imperial Guard caught up with him and delivered a message.

“My lord, His Majesty asks for your presence in the Royal Study immediately.”

Suzaku was surprised, but he nodded his acknowledgement and turned around to follow the guard.

**_End_ **


	9. Between The Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his knight disappeared from the party, Schneizel found that not everything was quite what it seemed.

When Klaus quietly approached him and murmured in a low voice that Lord Kururugi was in the palace gallery, Schneizel knew at once what he was doing.

It was rather unexpected, frankly speaking. Suzaku had displayed the most impeccable sense of responsibility in carrying out his knightly duties, and except for that one time when he had fallen asleep during the opera, no one could find fault in his record. It was only natural, to expect that for a party which was basically a celebration for his victory, his knight would show exactly the commitment of the same wholehearted manner.

The prince considered his options. Most of his siblings were present, even Odysseus whose geniality had appeared a bit forced after the unforeseen defeat of his knight. The absence of one prince should not be immediately noticed in that case.

He left the ballroom as unobtrusively as possible and made his way to the palace gallery, his pace fast but unhurried. Suzaku had come to the celebration and dutifully accepted his share of congratulations, smiles and expressions of gratitude ready on his lips. He had been an ideal picture of an imperial knight, if still a tad too quiet, and Schneizel had found himself reflecting on his decision to choose a disgraced Eleven as his knight – and the ripe fruits he now harvested – with no small sense of contentment.

That not everything was quite right had only been noticed by him when they had come within close proximity to each other. It had been strange, to feel his knight shying away from him instead of his usual firm, steadfast presence at his side. But Schneizel knew that he had not only been imagining it, nor the slight waver in Suzaku’s smile when he politely greeted nobles after nobles, receiving their compliments in a subdued manner which belonged only to him. Or the fact that he rarely looked up, as if afraid to catch his master's gaze – as if he had something to hide. These changes had come as an unexpected surprise to the prince, even unpleasant, and for the briefest moment, it let him entertain a bizarre thought that they had suddenly, somehow, stepped back to the day after Euphie had died. And they were strangers once again, with oceans of differences and chasms of prejudices to separate them.

Half an hour later, he had discovered that his knight was no longer in the party. It had taken him another few minutes to make certain of the fact, and finally ordered his manservant to quietly look for him. Schneizel had learned not to ignore his instinct – for it was in fact talent honed by knowledge after knowledge, so fine that it could play in the subconscious level.

There was only one reason why Suzaku would visit the palace gallery. The unknown factor was why he had suddenly abandoned the party for a glimpse of Euphie’s portrait, which he could visit just about any time during their stay in Pendragon. The prince had a few theories of his own, but the idea that Suzaku would embrace one of them to excuse himself from the party was quite ridiculous.

Two guards were standing on duty in front of the entrance to the gallery. Both quickly straightened up their posture at his arrival and confirmed the presence of Lord Kururugi inside the Hall of Virgil. The pair of heavy oak doors were swung open, and behind them was a long corridor with paintings hung on each side, framed by gilded pillars and painted ceilings. They were portraits of his honoured ancestors, emperors and empresses of both greatness and mediocrity, arranged by the order of ascension. He remembered that Clovis was the only prince who had paid attention to them, and even his interest lay in shades and colours, hardly the illustrious subject of the paintings.

At the end of the corridor was another door, and it stood half-ajar. Schneizel could see him, standing in front of his beautiful princess – his _eternally_ beautiful princess – like one lone mast of a ship on the verge of sinking. The idea made him pause for a moment, and he watched, piecing his thoughts together, assessing them, filing some and dismissing the rest, all done quietly before making his entrance.

Suzaku turned around sharply, his body visibly tensing at this sudden intrusion – and the prince realised that it was exactly what he was doing: intruding on an inner sanctum. Suzaku was his, but even now there were certain limits he would never allow himself to trespass. His knight’s face clearly said that he was now inches from one of those limits, and it slowed his steps down. He stopped just before the invisible line, close enough to see the gentleness of Euphie’s smile, but not to recognise the hard lines on her knight’s face.

 _His_ knight.

“Your Highness,” Suzaku’s voice was a shade too reserved, a shade too formal, a lowly foot soldier instead of his personal knight. He remembered the breathless laugh and the shy smile, just this afternoon as they had shared a particularly intimate kiss, and discovered that he was now frowning at this obvious change.

“You left the party,” he said, not an accusation but it might as well be one because Suzaku tensed up even more, guilt written all over his face. And there was something in the way he had both of his arms crossed in front of his stomach, tightly, like he was trying to hold himself together in one piece. Schneizel felt his frown deepen and bridged the distance between them, any concern over limits postponed for the moment, and saw the fear flickering in those large green eyes.

“I…“

The prince registered the faint note of panic in Suzaku’s voice and felt his concern triple almost immediately. What in the name of the empire could his knight possibly be afraid of from him – a reprimand for abandoning his duty?

But it was not until he had rested a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder that the situation shoved itself to his face. Suzaku gasped at the first contact and violently recoiled from him, feet barely holding him up as they took a few unsteady steps back. Schneizel stared, unsure what to make of this reaction, and of that expression etched on Suzaku’s face. _Horror_ – there was no other word for it.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I really didn’t mean to…” the rushed words, desperate, awkward, muddled, trailed off into strained pulse of silence. But even then, he was still miserably opening and closing his mouth, as if expecting words to form out by themselves and finish the sentence for him.

A terrified, wounded animal, a voice supplied in Schneizel’s head. Suzaku held his shaking body even tighter, perhaps in hope that it would abate the tremor, eyes wild and imploring. Very terrified, and very wounded.

“If you do not like my touching you, you should have said–“

“No!” His voice was harsh now, violent, with a slightly hysterical edge in it that cut into every word. The prince arched his eyebrows, and it was not only because his knight, for the first time since they had known each other, had interrupted him. “It’s not that at all, it’s not…nothing can be…no…”

Another silence swallowed him, brutal, raw, aching with dread. Suzaku looked down, away from his eyes but still shaking his head mutely, frantically, until Schneizel came to a decision and stopped him with both hands.

“Suzaku.”

Perhaps it was the warning tone in his voice, or the steady clasp of his hands. Suzaku stilled almost instantly, eyes wide and feral, staring at him, afraid of him, but the prince did not let go. His gloves made it impossible for him to tell if the younger man’s cheeks were warm or cold, but he imagined that they were cold.

“You should not have been here alone,” he said, softer, perhaps, than he had intended.

A small tremor raced through Suzaku’s body and his intake of breath was sharp. But he did not recoil or tear his gaze away – a definite improvement, Schneizel noted with some pleasure. He kept his hands on Suzaku’s cheeks, and a part of his mind vaguely wondered why it felt like he had never done this before. This was something more tangible than a caress, much more intimate. He could feel when his knight swallowed, when he breathed, its pattern rough and messy, even when he blinked. It was easier to focus on them, on his beautiful green eyes, counting seconds between each blink, than the trembling curve of his lips, or the way they traced the outline of his palm, slow, uncertain, fearful.

That was why it caught him completely by surprise when Suzaku suddenly stumbled forward and kissed him. The press of his lips was insistent, nothing affectionate, enough for him to recognise that it was not an act of love. It was an act of desperation, from the fingers that curled on his shirt to the hand that clung to the back of his neck, but he wrapped his arms around the small body all the same.

There was a faint sound, a half-choke and a half-sob, coming from Suzaku’s mouth as he tilted his head up even more, offering, allowing him to plunder his mouth. It was all too easy, all too foreign, all too _strange_. The prince found himself pulling away from the kiss, a little abruptly, and the eyes which stared back at him now looked even more terrified that before.

“I’m sorry,” Suzaku breathed out shakily, his small voice barely audible past his red, quivering lips, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I know I shouldn’t have–“

“Suzaku,” he interrupted the flood of words which would no doubt take shape into a train of jumbled apologies on how he had no right to initiate a kiss and the likes. “What happened?”

His eyes widened – _trapped_ – and Suzaku tried to look away, but Schneizel kept his face firmly in place with a hand on his chin. “You don’t usually behave like this,” he said again, now with a hint of steeliness in his voice. “What happened?”

Suzaku looked up at him, and when he answered, it almost sounded defiant. “Nothing, Your Highness. Nothing unusual.”

The prince wondered what actually constituted as ‘nothing unusual’ to his knight, but since Suzaku’s degree of tolerance was often quite extreme, even to the point of outrageous, it might as well be anything. A noble who remarked a thing or two which grazed a little too close to the mark, wanting to hurt him after the outcome of the Spring Tournament. Even His Majesty perhaps. Nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

But a part of him was disappointed – and he was well within his rights to be disappointed. It was almost like having a knight who did not trust him.

“Am I not worthy of your confidence?” the prince asked, his voice dry.

It earned him an immediate response. “No, please…” Suzaku whispered, his voice caught in his throat, and he looked like he had just lost Euphemia all over again. “Please don’t, Your Highness… please, it isn’t about…“ He bit his lips, close to tears, holding the sleeve of the prince’s coat in a pitiful grasp. “…I can’t… it’s just…”

Maybe it was not a matter a trust. Schneizel knew that it was not when he bent down slightly to kiss Suzaku’s brow. “I understand,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “You have the right to keep your privacy. I apologise for implying anything.”

Suzaku only shook his head mutely and looked down. Surprise was a shy guest in front of the Second Prince, its visits few and far in between, not to mention brief. But today he felt like it had more than well-acquainted itself with him, when Suzaku rested his head on his shoulder, first with a breath of uncertainty, and then with the clearer hint of need, almost desperation as his fingers curled possessively on his coat. He was a mass of nerves and convoluted thoughts, and Schneizel kept his arms around the shaking body until it had calmed down, until his breathing had evened out.

Wordless. Firm. It was a wonder how much a touch from another human could do. And then Suzaku sighed and breathed deeply, as if trying to memorize his scent, arms wrapped around his waist so tightly that he could feel a faint tug in his heart.

“You are a stubborn one,” Schneizel said softly, and felt another shudder rippling through his knight’s body. His lips parted, but no word came out, only a little sigh that settled on the base of the prince’s neck like a lover’s kiss.

“I…” Suzaku swallowed and drew one hand back to rest on his chest, “maybe I should go back to the party.”

“Do you want to?”

“It is my duty.”

“Yes, it is,” the prince agreed, and allowed himself a small, affectionate smile. “But you did not answer my question. Do you want to?”

A moment of silence passed between them, and like the fate of all silence, it met its end in an ungraceful manner. Suzaku pulled away to look up at him, straight into his eyes. “Yes.”

Schneizel raised his brow. “Are you lying?”

It was a very faint, a very shaky smile that appeared on his knight’s face. “Would it matter, Your Highness?” he inquired quietly, and took one step back, away from his arms.

“Of course. Why, Suzaku, you are my knight.”

Something snapped somewhere, in between, and his eyes acquired a distant look that the prince could only relate to one thing but chose not to. “Yes,” he murmured, a trace of resignation in his voice. “I suppose I am.”

And then, before the prince could say anything, he added with a firmer voice, “And that is why I will go back to the party.”

“I fail to see the connection between the cause and the effect,” Schneizel said matter-of-factly, but did not attempt to annul the newly-built distance between them. Suzaku managed a subdued smile.

“I am Your Highness’s knight, am I not?”

Sometimes, he thought about weaknesses and wondered if they were strengths instead. The world had its paradoxes, and the rest their contradictions. “You are the worst kind of liar,” he said, and arranged his voice and countenance not to betray more than they must. “The kind that actually believes the lies he builds around himself.”

Suzaku maintained his smile, even if the flicker in his eyes had dimmed. “It can be useful at times,” was his only reply.

“Terribly useful, I dare say,” Schneizel murmured and pulled his knight close to his chest again. Suzaku did not resist. He leant into the touch instead, finding crooks and angles to fit the curves of his body. A familiar rite, built stone by stone from nights of taking the young man to his bed and pretending that what they did was less than it was. It had never mattered to him before, never stirred more than the perfunctory amount of sympathy – if there was any – but Suzaku stood here and stared at his sister’s beautiful face, dead smiles and frozen paint and golden frames, and the prince realised that it did matter.

It never needed much explanation. Attachment, in all its glory was a prelude to love and its magnificent power to bring down kingdoms and tear down heavens. He knew Suzaku was in love with him, and there were times when he both cherished and regretted the fact, but the prince had never let himself think about reciprocation. Affection, perhaps, but anything beyond that would be worse than nuisance.

It was only natural, he decided when he let the younger man go and saw those wide green eyes, sweet and bright and innocent. After all, Suzaku was his knight. There was bound to be some degree of affection, with or without his consent. It might as well be inevitable, in a way, although he admitted that one had to be incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to love the person who was supposed to protect one’s life. In most cases, it proved to be less of the former and more of the latter.

But sometimes it was inevitable.

**_End_ **


	10. Mire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is their last day before going back to Japan and they still have unfinished business, with each other in particular.

In the end, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

Walls had ears, even eyes in this place. A secret could not be kept for long and those who kept it would eventually – and inevitably – leave enough crumbs to bring it to light. Suzaku knew this. It was only a matter of time. Nowadays, he saw a pair of maids giggling and whispering behind one of the many towering pillars, and immediately thought of the worst. The guards and soldiers too, their hidden smirk, their stifled laugh a touch too derisive in his ears. And the nobles, always wrinkling their nose whenever he passed by or just as much as walked into their line of sight, pointedly turning their face away. Suzaku would tell himself that this was nothing new, but then he would remember what had happened that day in His Majesty’s private study – every single detail of it – and his feeble assurance would fall apart as easily as a bastion made of dust.

It was something else, a new depth, and he fell deeper inside, alone. Apparently there was no limit to how low one could sink. Refusal was not an option, sharing even less because even _he_ was disgusted with himself. And somehow, who knows, if he bore it all silently, perhaps it would seem less pitiful – perhaps it would feel more bearable.

But secrets could never be buried for long, the gravity of truth was much too powerful. He walked the halls like everyone already knew what he was – a whore, first his instructors in the academy, then the Second Prince, and finally the emperor. One could say that it was paranoia, that nobody was actually talking about him, there was no proof of it, but when the prince himself had personally handed him the evidence, he simply ran out of excuses.

A part of him didn’t want to believe it. It was easier to live in the illusion, and then perhaps he could still keep that semblance of affection his lord had seemed fit to give him. There wasn’t a question of forgiveness if Schneizel found out and he had been naïve enough to think, _hope_ that he could fool the prince.

He should have known better. That night, he had been too distraught to hold his pretence for long, and his body, complete with its weaknesses and flaws, had betrayed more than it should – the flinch, stutters, quivers, and to top them all, tears. To this fool’s parade he then had had to add a spectacular finishing touch, one which would have stunned even the most gullible, and Schneizel was probably the last person on earth he could pair with such description. But the recognition had dawned too slowly. A split of a second after he had asked his lord not to bed him that night, Suzaku realised that he had practically left his sordid tale open for anyone to read.

The evidence did not take long to manifest itself. The prince had of course complied with his request and never pursued the subject, something which Suzaku had been immensely grateful for at the beginning. It was fast to develop into blistering unease only a few minutes later. It was difficult not to, when he realised that there was suddenly a gulf between them, rising out of nowhere. He knew then, on some unspoken levels, that his lord had found out. Perhaps it was the sudden lack of affection, the absence of lingering touches and eloquent smiles which he had pathetically grown addicted to. Nowadays, the most he would get was a brief pat to his shoulder, affable but thoroughly impersonal. He did not flinch anymore, but the prince made no follow through either. He called him his knight, talked to him about his duties, allowed him to stand at his side, and yet…

Suzaku couldn’t even tell what he was missing. Days drifted past, one blending with the next and he felt himself growing numb with fear. It was how he lived then, every minute dreading another summon from the emperor, every second yearning for someone else’s touch, and that someone never came, never even looked at him anymore outside official meetings and audiences. He told himself that it was only to be expected. He must not ask for more than he deserved, and _this_ was already more than what he deserved, after what he had done.

But it mattered but little when he lay in his cold bed at night, wishing that he had not fallen in love. Everything would have been easier. Less complicated. Less painful.

“Suzaku.”

There was an insistent note in Jacques’s voice and it yanked him out of his thought. His awareness came in bits, small disjointed parts that rolled in his mind like rounded pebbles. He was in the hangar. In his hand was a bundle of paper with details and instructions. Tomorrow he would return to Japan. His task was to oversee the preparation. Jacques was standing next to him and still whispering in an urgent tone, “His Highness, five o’clock.”

Suzaku whirled around hastily and had to keep a tight leash on his emotions when he caught the sight of his lord watching all the activities from the second floor, General Bartley at his side. He swallowed thickly when those eyes found him, and quickly reminded himself to bow. When he straightened up, there was a flash of a smile, fleeting and vague behind the thick glass window, but it left his heart beating violently against his chest. It disappeared as smoothly as it had appeared, and then the prince turned around to leave, his back once more toward him.

Suzaku pressed his lips together but returned to his task without a word.

\-----

“And here are the files of the current members.”

A stack of documents were pushed toward him, scraping a soundless sigh across the surface of the desk. General Bartley was eyeing him from his seat behind the massive table as he opened the topmost file and found the photograph of a dark-haired man in uniform, his face hard and firm with a trace of inborn ruthlessness in the shape of his mouth.

“There aren’t many of them,” the general said again, his voice as rigid and unsympathetic as his office. “Only sixteen, but to be given the chance to lead them is no small matter.”

“I understand, Sir,” Suzaku answered promptly and returned his hands to his side.

A frown appeared on that stern face, only a little less than a scorn. “Do you really?” The older man’s voice was heavy with disbelief. “You’ve won the Spring Tournament, I’ll give you that, but we are talking about a group of elite knights with pride higher than anyone else in the entire land. And they have a reason to be proud, I assure you.”

Suzaku resisted an urge to sigh. “I have no intention to look down on anyone, General, and certainly not on the Camulos Knight,” he said, as careful as possible with his wording so as not to offend the superior officer further.

It seemed to work, as the frown lessened slightly in intensity. “That is only wise,” Bartley stated firmly. “They are possibly the best company in Britannian military, personally handpicked by His Highness himself. Each member has remarkable individual skill and can easily withstand the attack from an enemy ten times their number. For the last few months, they were ordered by His Majesty to deal with a situation in Finland, but now that it has been resolved, they will return under the command of His Highness the Second Prince.”

“And without a doubt they won’t be thrilled to have a Number as their new commander,” Suzaku murmured. He was quickly rewarded with a second, much deeper frown for his troubles.

“Was that wit?”

Suzaku silently cursed himself for his inability to keep errant thoughts to himself. “Merely an observation, Sir,” he said meekly.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them while the general put him under intent scrutiny, as if he couldn’t decide whether the younger man was sincere or not. In the end, he dropped the issue and carried on with the briefing, taking refuge in the familiarity of facts and plain information. “The ceremony will take place back in Area 11, as well as the formalization of your promotion to the rank of Brigadier General. On the fifteenth, as it is said here, two days after our arrival. There will be the usual party as a celebration, and then you can officially start your duty.” The general looked up, training a solemn gaze on him. “Perhaps you have known that as the Commander of the Camulos Knight, you will have the right to elect new members, but I suggest waiting until you’ve had the chance know your men – and women – better.”

“Until they have fully accepted me.”

“A man who deserves respect must earn it by his own hand,” Bartley said sternly, apparently finding something offensive in his tone. Suzaku arranged his face to look as civil and unassuming as possible and maintained a respectful silence.

There was an irritated huff – a grudging acceptance – and then the general said again, “But yes, the right is yours since you clearly are going to be their leader. Remember though, that this is a distinguished company which has a certain level of quality to be maintained. And of course, each candidate must be approved by His Highness Prince Schneizel first.”

“I shall keep it in mind, Sir,” Suzaku politely gave his reply, only after it was made certain that one was truly expected. The older man nodded in approval but still regarded him with narrowed eyes. His hands had moved from the desk to rest on strained dark-blue uniform above an over-sized belly. General Bartley Asprius had never shown much cordiality toward him, but he was a fair man and treated him fairly if not warmly, despite having been initially prejudiced against his honorary status like most Britannians were. Not exactly an ally, but at least not an enemy either.

“I’ll say an exhibition match is as good a place as any to start,” the general suddenly murmured, a strangled note in his dry voice.

The ensuing silence was deafening. Suzaku stared, unsure what to make of the – suggestion? – speech. It almost sounded like the general was trying to help.

Bartley cleared his throat uncomfortably and repositioned his monocle before saying hastily, “Anyway, that is about the Camulos Knight. As for the rest, I will still command the Seventh Imperial Fleet in His Highness’s name for now, but I believe the responsibility will fall into your hand in due time.” The narrowed eyes flicked up briefly, not entirely catching Suzaku’s gaze. “I think that’s all for now, Lord Kururugi.”

There was an air of finality in that sentence, a certain dismissal, but it was almost overwhelmed by its hasty execution. Suzaku bit his lips and wondered if perhaps, he wasn’t the only one uncertain about his footing here. From what he could tell, the general seemed to have some difficulty in deciding whether he liked the younger man or not, and for some reasons the idea made him want to smile.

And so he did, earned himself another scowl – although it was clearly accompanied with a great deal of fuming embarrassment – and quickly excused himself from the office.

\-----

_“Not even for a late drink?”_

Suzaku groaned softly when his back hit the soft cushioning – the first sofa he had seen in hours. After running around for the best part of the day and making sure that everything was in perfect order, to sit down and just let his muscles rest for a few minutes felt like heaven itself. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the top of the couch, and brought his cell phone closer to his right ear. “I’m not sure, Kai– Milly. It’s almost six and the preparation isn’t done yet. Maybe if it’s all finished before six, but…” he paused and filled the rest with silence, letting doubt speak for itself.

_“I understand,”_ her voice was subdued but there was enough disappointment in it for him to notice. _“I knew you would be busy. It’s just… oh, never mind.”_

“It’s just?” he encouraged quietly, picking up the soft sigh she had left at the end of her sentence.

_“Nothing.”_

Suzaku pinched the bridge of his nose to abate some of the throbbing headache he had been feeling all day. It helped but a little. “Milly.”

_“It’s just you don’t look too well,”_ she finally explained, hurriedly but reluctantly. _“I mean, these past few days, after the tournament particularly. Who knows if a dinner with a friend…”_ She paused, her voice dropping to an uncertain murmur, _“I have a feeling that I’m meddling too much.”_

“No.”

Her laughter sounded less vivacious through the line, but it still brought a smile to his lips. _“Oho, a lie. You’re always much too polite even when it’s a lie. Sometimes I really hate that about you.”_

Suzaku couldn’t help a chuckle. “I know,” he said softly. “But I’m all right, so please don’t worry yourself unnecessarily over me.”

_“Well, then do it for me,”_ Milly said firmly. _“We won’t meet each other for quite a long time, you know, maybe until the next time you visit the capital again and who knows when that will happen. By the way, my father has been hinting that he wants to buy a house here.”_

“Isn’t that good? You can live close to your parents even if you’re already married.”

He could almost see the wince on her face, as it echoed through her voice. _“And let them harass me about giving them grandchildren soon? No, thank you.”_ There was a mock sigh and then she added, almost ruefully, _“I love Japan, you know.”_

Suzaku felt a stab of pain in his chest but Milly chased it away just as quickly with another of her dramatic sigh, her tone of voice long-suffering as she added, _“And you have no idea how dreary it is to be a countess. Nothing but balls and tea parties. And I’m not even one yet.”_

He tried a laugh and was surprised when it flowed out of his mouth easily, perhaps also genuinely. “I think you just miss your crazy escapades in Ashford,” he suggested with an innocent tone.

_“Wit, Suzaku-kun?”_ she teased him. _“I thought you were depressed.”_

“It doesn’t have anything to do with being depressed.”

_“So you’re admitting that you **are** depressed.”_ There was a triumphant note in her voice.

Suzaku felt a smile on his lips. “Through extreme coercion.”

_“Details,”_ Milly carelessly waved it aside with a tittering laugh. He tried to picture her, dressed in a beautiful gown, sitting next to a window which glowed bright crimson in the setting sun, smiling to the receiver clasped in one hand. When she spoke again, her tone was a little more subdued. _“We can’t discuss the cause of your depression over the phone, can we?”_

Silence filled his ears, an awkward harmony with the air-conditioner humming stiffly in the background. Suzaku clenched and unclenched his fist, tasting how it felt like – while all the way aware that it was only an excuse for him not to think for a moment.

“It’s a little… sensitive,” he finally answered.

_“I had a hunch,”_ she said gently. _“Are you going to be okay?”_

“Yeah, I guess.” He looked up at the sound of door opening and there was Jacques, looking into the room, relief flooding his face when he noticed Suzaku sitting on the couch. “Can I call you again later?”

_“Anytime, milord.”_

Milly ended the call with a soft chuckle. Jacques closed the door behind him and walked toward the couch, handing him a folder, black with gold tiny inscriptions at each corner. “So that’s why I couldn’t contact you,” he accused.

Suzaku only smiled and took the offered file. “Is it done?”

“Yes.” Jacques seated himself next to him. “An escort of two ships and twenty-eight Knightmares in total. Lancelot, as usual, will stand by on Avalon along with four other Knightmares. Halfway there, we will meet the Camulos Knight under the command of Lord Alaric Vandewalle, and they will join the escort until we all arrive in Area 11.” He shifted quietly, a slight frown evident on his handsome face. “I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. This is overwhelming.”

“We cannot be too careful,” Suzaku murmured, his eyes quickly skimming down the document. “I don’t want anything to catch us unprepared.”

The other man watched him in silence for a few seconds before relenting with a shrug. “You’re the commander, so it’s your call. But I’m still convinced that if something does happen, all we need is for you to ride out with Lancelot and follow Prince Schneizel’s instructions.” He suddenly grinned. “Do you know that this combination has become somewhat a legend among the soldiers? Unbeatable, they say. The sword and the mind that controls it.”

Suzaku said nothing and only added his signature at the end of the document, determinedly keeping his eyes down. He could feel Jacques’s eyes studying him closely, and knew that something must have leaked into his face.

“Maybe you should take her advice and go to that dinner,” Jacques suddenly spoke again, a little too carefully. “I can handle everything from here.”

It made Suzaku look up and raise his eyebrows. “You’re in this with her?”

“Lady Ashford talked to me yesterday and I must say that I agreed, wholeheartedly,” the admission came unabashed. “Why don’t you just take the night off? God knows you need it.”

“I have to be here.”

“No, you don’t.”

“The escort guard–“

“It’s done,” Jacques said decisively. “You’ve done everything you can but fretting over it. And if you do want to fret over it, you certainly can do so over dinner. I’m sure the good lady will be happy to give you a good smack over the head for it.”

Suzaku pressed his lips together and closed the folder, handing it back to Jacques. “I want to be here in case something happens,” he said, and there was this stubborn finality in his voice which made the other man _look_ at him, recognition dawning on his face.

“It’s His Highness, isn’t it?”

“No.” The word slipped out unbidden, the closest he ever got to plain honesty. Suzaku took a deep, shaky breath as his fingers tried to crush each other on his lap, but found no relief from the action. “No, it’s me. I shouldn’t have…” The excuse deserted him and he looked down again, mumbling, “This is really stupid.”

“Nothing complicates one’s life like love,” the other commented sympathetically and earned himself a glare.

“You are not helping.”

Jacques smirked. “I wasn’t trying to,” he admitted freely. Suzaku threw him a scathing look, but the effect was ruined by the ringing of the other man’s cell phone.

“Sedgwick,” Jacques promptly answered to the line. “Yes, I’ve found him. I think there’s one more… oh.” A momentary pause, as his eyes flickered toward him. “Yes. All right, I’ll let him know at once. The Royal Study, you said?”

It had never been pleasant, the feeling of his heart violently plummeting into the pit of his stomach – and even less pleasant when Suzaku vaguely noticed that it was not all that unfamiliar for him. Numb with dread, he only half-listened as his fear lurched into reality and Jacques told him that he was expected by the emperor.

“You don’t look too pleased,” he added after a moment of observation. “I thought it was an honour to have a personal audience with His Majesty.”

“It is,” Suzaku said quickly and rose to his feet before the other man could get a better look on his face. “Jacques, you may have to take care of things here. I’m afraid…” He swallowed, the words constricting his throat. “I mean, if the meeting turns out to be long–“

“Don’t worry about it,” Jacques interrupted him and followed him to leave the room. “Just make sure you don’t screw yourself in front of His Majesty.”

Somehow, he managed to choke back the grimace and find a smile.

\-----

It was that music again.

A symphony of some sort, rich in tones and colours gloriously intertwined, but also menacing as each note struck a deep fear within him. It was the same symphony he had heard that evening, but the emperor had said nothing and Suzaku continued to stand there mutely, forced to listen. And remember.

Everything inside the study spoke to him about luxury and regality – of the cold and haughty sort. It was the second time he had been there, and the size, the details were just as overwhelming. He couldn’t say for sure if the impression wasn’t at all influenced by his underlying dread, but the wood-panelled walls and intricately carved friezes; and then the paintings of wars lost and won adorning them; the tall, sturdy bookcases at one side, filled by rows of thick, immense books with gilded cover; the floor-to-ceiling windows at another with heavy drapes in deep blue colour, overlooking a sky in decline, a mess of purple, yellow, grey, and rust; and finally the massive writing desk made of dark wood. He still remembered how his face had pressed against its hard but smooth surface as he had tried to block out the pain – and the humiliation – and the taste of blood on his tongue because he had bitten his lips so hard that they had bled and he couldn’t afford the risk of spoiling anything in this room.

Brown was supposed to be a warm colour. It was a pale, yellow light which permeated the room, but Suzaku could feel a chill running up his spine. Not even his standard military room aboard Avalon, chiefly furnished in starched white, had ever felt this cold. The fact that His Majesty had barely said a word to him but for a curt order to _just stand there_ when he had arrived, and since then had completely ignored his presence in favour for a book did not help.

The emperor was the most powerful man in the Holy Empire of Britannia and, one could argue, in the entire world. If he was told to stay silent, then he would stay silent – and considering the kind of order he had obeyed just a few days ago, this was overwhelmingly petty in comparison. And it was not as if he hadn’t been trained to stand still for a certain duration of time during his military training.

But minutes passed and the Fourth Movement was rising to its finale and every movement, every turn of page still made him draw a sharp intake of breath. At least he could suppress the flinch now, although the small encouragement fell flat against the whirlwind that was his tangled emotions. If he could detach himself from them just a little, if he could pretend, like he had once in this same room not too long ago, that it wasn’t him who went through all these but his station, his role of a knight…

And then the music ended and there was silence, the kind that peeled off one’s skin because it was so sharp. It was more difficult to stay still then, but he couldn’t look up; it would be a breach of courtesy to do so in the presence of an emperor.

“Tomorrow you will return to Area 11.”

Suzaku started as the rumbling voice lanced through the stupefied silence shrouding the room. He struggled to hide his agitation and raised a pair of polite, inquiring eyes, although he could feel that they came off more frightened than anything. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Your homeland.” The emperor had not looked up from his reading material, and neither had the tone of his voice shifted from its flat drawling quality. “But it’s little more than a wasteland now.”

Suzaku remained silent, tight-lipped with barely contained anger – and yet some of it must have leaked into his expression since His Majesty was now looking at him. “Anger, is it your driving force?” he said and the words trembled, mocked, but his unfluctuating tone indicated that the emperor was not particularly interested in the question itself. Suzaku was not sure which he should take offence more.

Before he could decide, a respectful train of knocks reached his ears and almost made him cringe. He glanced at the door, hope suddenly swelling inside him for some heaven-sent interruption, and then His Majesty spoke again.

“You may leave.”

It was almost impossible to be true. Suzaku was stunned still for two seconds before quickly excusing himself with a hurried bow and making a beeline toward his escape. A part of his mind which could still function properly in the flood of relief wondered what the purpose of the emperor calling for him in the first place was, but the rest was simply too relieved to care.

Until he came face-to-face with the Second Prince, right outside the Royal Study.

Suzaku froze, his guard torn down completely by brutal waves of shock. Not only that this was the first time they had been in a fairly close proximity in the last few days, the fact that it occurred when he had just left His Majesty’s study seemed to erase all doubts on what he had been doing there. But there was only stony calmness on Schneizel’s face, and Suzaku bit his lips, reminding himself to make way and bow deeply.

He gasped when strong fingers seized his arm and clasped it in an iron grip. “Wait in my chamber,” the prince said, his voice low but tight – only a little more than a whisper but Suzaku could tell that his master was livid.

And then his arm was let go just as abruptly, leaving the skin tingling unpleasantly.

\-----

He must have waited for hours. Suzaku rested his forehead against the cool windowpane, his eyes sweeping across the dark, sprawling garden beneath but seeing nothing. Every nerve in his body was numb with drawn-out anticipation. His fear had dulled into an unpleasant throb at the back of his mind, faint but unmistakably there. It seemed that his evening had consisted of nothing but waiting and more waiting.  
  
Everything around him was elegant and soothing – or at least designed to be. The prince’s chamber was made of two rooms joined by a white, beautifully carved door, one a bedroom and the other a moderate-sized lounge which housed a writing desk and a high-backed chair among others. He had been here on several occasions – and most of them had ended up with his relocating himself to the next room and, inevitably, onto the bed.  
  
He shook the thought off him with something that felt too much like desperation and started to pace the room. An antique clock sitting atop the long drawer under a watercolour painting of an old, prospering city informed him that it was now a little past eight. He wondered about dinner but couldn’t feel anything but a cold lump in his stomach. Something must have detained the prince. It could be His Majesty himself. He didn’t want to entertain the possibility that _this_ might be deliberately inflicted on him.  
  
But like father like son, wasn’t it?   
  
As soon as the thought emerged, Suzaku began to berate himself. It was not sense which had spoken, but his tangled emotions, because it was only too easy to give into resentment when one’s heart was involved. That was why falling on love with his lord was such a bad idea.  
  
Well, no use crying over one of the most irreversible things in life. As he had discovered firsthand, it was a complete waste of time.  
  
He continued his pacing for a few moments, lost in another train of thoughts. There was no longer any doubt left within him that the prince knew. It had been reflected in his voice, all the accusations, anger and – god knows – disappointment. Suzaku hardly knew what to say if this subject was to be approached later, and if his account on what had happened tonight – that he had been summoned by His Majesty to play statue for almost half-an-hour and then provide a little conversation of an overwhelmingly trifling nature – would be accepted, let alone believed. Even to him, it still felt bizarre if not absurd. There seemed to be no purpose in it and yet he very much doubted that the emperor would do anything without clear purpose in mind.  
  
And then Suzaku realised that his feet had stopped walking, and now he was standing right in front of the white door. A sudden urge to let himself into the prince’s bedchamber made his hand reach for the door handle. His common sense hurled warnings inside his head once his gloved fingers had wrapped themselves around the curved, ornate shape. But the urge was stronger, almost an unbridled hunger by now. In any case, how much more could he infuriate his master now?  
  
The sound was loud in his ears, sharply tearing the silence when the handle worked its locks. He let it go quickly, but the door had given way, a small slit now visible between the edge of the door and the frame, curiously alight with warm golden glow. The slightest push from his hand widened the gap and soon he had stared into his lord’s inner sanctum.  
  
It was slightly different inside. Everything seemed to be covered in velvet, in rich, deep red colour which fashioned an elegant blend with the white panelling and a little touch of gold here and there. Bright, but with more than a few secrets in its air and walls, all of them artfully concealed, even invisible. Suzaku dimly noticed that his heart was now hammering against his chest as his eyes set about the room slowly. His gaze eventually fell onto the bed and his stomach coiled at the burst of memories which suddenly ambushed him out of nowhere.   
  
He swallowed. Had it really been no more than a week?  
  
His first step into the bedchamber was an effort. He had visited the room more than a few times, but the knowledge hardly dispelled any of its imposing grandeur. His feet approached the bed, neatly made, with the same red, embroidered velvet serving as a canopy overhead. He bent down slightly to touch the sheet, silently wishing that he could feel its fine texture instead of dredging it up from memories.  
  
Suzaku laughed at himself, the sound quiet but painful. He knew that he sometimes gave in to his sentimental side but this was nothing short of ridiculous. The stress must be starting to get him.  
  
His moment of reflection ended abruptly when his ears picked up a sound coming from the front door. He straightened up and turned around, very much aware of the footsteps now moving into the other room. Panic suddenly flaring, he quickly put some distance between himself and the bed and stood unobtrusively near the sofa.   
  
He did not need to wait long. Schneizel came in with long, elegant strides, eyes sweeping around the bedchamber and lingering on his rigid form for just a moment before he proceeded to discard his coat and let it fall in a careless sprawl across the sofa. Suzaku kept his gaze glued to the floor – out of fright more than politeness – waiting with heart racing in his chest as the prince seated himself down, one leg crossed over the other.  
  
Suzaku discovered that he couldn’t breathe. He felt eyes on him again and dared himself to glance up, meeting a less-than-warm gaze.  
  
“Remove your clothes.”  
  
The flat, clipped tone made his heart sink even deeper, and deeper still when the words finally registered. Suzaku whipped his head up, mouth suddenly dry.  
  
“Your Highness?” he inquired uncertainly.  
  
“I said remove your clothes,” the prince repeated, his mouth set to a firm, expressionless line. “Start with your shoes, and then your gloves.”  
  
Suzaku stared, his thoughts in a whirl, and almost did not realise when he mechanically knelt down to work on his boots. His fingers felt foreign as they pulled down the zipper, first the left, and then the right. He used the chance to close his eyes for a moment, struggling to regulate his breathing and calm himself. And then he carefully stepped out of them, making only the least possible noises before starting on his gloves. All the way, his lord was watching him with a pair of almost uninterested eyes, breaking the silence only to give brief instructions – _the jacket, trousers, shirt_ – each word quiet and deliberate but with a storm raging beneath them. His fingers started to tremble as more and more parts of his body were exposed, but there was no indication that the prince had noticed – or cared to notice.   
  
His clothes lay in heaps on the carpeted floor when he was done, but he made no attempt to tidy them – there was no order for it. It was a struggle to keep his hands on his side while he stood silently, without a single thread on his body as if he was an object on display. He almost flinched when Schneizel rose from the sofa and slowly advanced toward him, but managed to seize control back just in time and keep his eyes directed to the floor.   
  
He waited, and waited until the older man stopped behind him. For a long, agonizing moment, there was only silence wrapped around his naked body like a cold blanket of ice. He could feel the weight of the prince’s gaze on his back, on the expanse of his bare skin, and it took him every sliver of self-control not to fight against the feeling.   
  
It was different, however, when a hand touched the small of his back. He gasped, but the pressure increased – a warning – and Suzaku bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself still. Then the hand left him, only to be replaced by the tip of fine fingers, tracing up his spine and resting just below his neck. Another hand slinked past his waist, following the ridge on his abdomen until it stopped at the opposite side of his hips.  
  
If it had been difficult to breathe before, it was practically an impossible endeavour by now. His muscles were all tense, caught between waiting, dreading, _hoping_ for something to happen. This was the closest he had ever been in his lord’s arms since… he couldn’t even remember when now.  
  
But the hands suddenly withdrew from his body, leaving only a trail of phantom warmth in their wake. The prince walked past him toward the sofa and began to pull off his gloves. “Lie on the bed,” he then said, his detached manner remained unchanging. “On your stomach.”  
  
Just another order. Stowing his pride, honour, and everything else which would never allow him to lower himself and do this kind of thing for anyone into a box and kicking it to a dark, out-of-the-way corner of his mind, Suzaku walked toward the bed. The sheet was cool under his palms, and then knees as he climbed up to the mattress and quietly settled down on his stomach. He laid his head down on a white gold-striped pillow, on his left cheek, and tried to ignore the whisper of fabrics against skin coming from somewhere behind him.   
  
It felt like an eternity had passed until he sensed another person’s weight to his left, the warmth caressing, taunting his cold, naked skin. The hand that touched the back of his knee was warm and light, rising slowly to his thigh, past the curve of his buttocks, and then the hollow of his back. He snapped his eyes shut when he felt the responding throb between his legs, not daring to make a sound.  
  
“Is this what you do every time anyone touches you?” his lord suddenly said, mouth hovering just above the shell of his ear. “Just lie there and look helpless?”  
  
Suzaku remained silent. He felt a painful tug in his chest but violently shoved it aside as the lips moved to the juncture of his neck, warm breaths stirring the brown locks on his nape. He couldn’t involve heart in this, not if he still wanted to survive long enough and realise his dream for Japan. This was just _something,_ and like so many other somethings between him and his lord, it had no place–  
  
“Raise your hips.”  
  
Suzaku stiffened. Something inside him rebelled, shouting angrily that he didn’t deserve this treatment, it hadn’t been his fault what the emperor had done to him. It fell against deaf ears as he proceeded to do just what he was ordered to, arranging his limbs, spreading his legs a little like a doll too used to a mundane routine. The prince moved away from his side for a moment, and when he returned, there was a flowery scent that Suzaku recognised only too well.  
  
The first touch to his entrance, cool and slick, sent an intense tremor throughout his body, making him tremble all over. No sooner that he had gotten a shaky grip on himself, a finger slipped inside without warning, rendering all his efforts useless. A second followed and the familiar pain writhed to life, a slow spread from his lower back along the fibres of his nerve. Suzaku pressed his face into the pillow, almost relieved to have an excuse for the worsening prickle in his eyes. It wasn’t so much the pain as the pounding ache in his chest, and the cold realisation that no one cared.  
  
Suzaku almost groaned when he felt that sharp pleasure inside him, stabbing his senses and wrenching a gasp from his throat. His hips jerked once, sending waves of mortification throughout his body along with a raw undertone of arousal. He was painfully aware of everything, every sensation, every sound his mouth was making. The fingers continued to go in and out his body, sometimes stretching, sometimes making him bite back a sob after another stab of pleasure, building a rhythm from the broken splinters of his composure  
  
The prince was silent all through this, leaving his quickened breaths a crude symphony in the barren stretch of silence. He tried not to think about it. All these familiarities, stark against the new differences were already driving him mad.   
  
But when the fingers abruptly left him, Suzaku had to fight down a whimper threatening to burst out from his throat. Not only that it had been sudden, the loss of distraction left him acutely aware of his almost painful state of arousal. At this point, he couldn’t say he still cared if his conduct was too subservient, or improper, or even utterly demeaning to himself. All he knew was he needed those fingers to touch him again.  
  
His thoughts splintered when the prince took his throbbing hardness in his hand, causing a long moan to slip out past his lips before he could stop it. He thrust into the firm grip a few times before realising what he was doing and stilling his hips out of sheer stubbornness. His breaths were now coming in short gasps, barely enough to keep him conscious. He could feel his thighs quivering when the hand traced a finger down to the tip of his erection, spreading the moisture which had gathered there across the head, making him whine softly.  
  
“Where does your heart lie?” The question came as the hand suddenly left him – again.  
  
Suzaku sank his teeth into the flesh of his lips, trying so hard not to buck his hips down onto the sheet for the sake of any kind of friction. “Does Your Highness not know?” he shot back when he finally had located his voice, unsurprised to its rough, patchy condition.  
  
“Do not hide behind another question.” The voice rose slightly, a sign of growing impatience. And anger, he couldn’t help but notice. “Answer me.”  
  
Suzaku heard a sharp bark of laughter rising from his throat and wondered why it sounded more like a little boy crying. “Why?” he spat out boldly, struggling against all of the bitterness and frustration mounting inside him. For a moment he forgot – didn’t care – who he was speaking to. “What does it matter now?”   
  
“Answer me,” the prince repeated, his voice now a dangerous hiss, and tugged a handful of Suzaku’s hair, pulling his head back roughly. The younger man couldn’t help a small pained gasp, which quickly strayed toward another moan when those fingers found his leaking member again. Just touching, not doing anything yet. He gritted his teeth, salvaging the paltry remnants of his self-control, and turned his head around to stare defiantly at his lord.   
  
“If Your Highness doesn’t know, then I have no answer either,” he said bluntly, meeting the dark, smouldering gaze, hating himself a little more for trying to catch a glimpse of something more affectionate in it.  
  
His head sank back into the pillow when Suzaku felt the hand squeeze, and then begin to stroke slowly. He should be angry, being played like this – and he _was_ – but his body had a mind of its own. It was more than ready to give in. The measured, rhythmical strokes rapidly burned his stock of inhibitions and the pillow under his cheek was now damp with perspiration. It was bordering agony how sinfully good the feeling of his lord’s fingers on him, skin against skin, sliding over his hardened flesh as gracefully as he had handled the pianoforte. He wanted more, more, more and his hips started to rock against the hand as the pace quickened into something unbearable.  
  
“No,” Suzaku gasped into the pillow when he felt the beginning of a climax, almost incoherent with need. His feet, hands dug into the mattress even deeper as he tried to hold back release. He didn’t want it like this, just another indulgence for his body, utterly without meaning. Not with this person.  
  
But Suzaku realised that he didn’t quite have any say in it. He felt a thumb brushing the tip of his arousal and came with a strangled cry, almost against his wish, hips jerking helplessly under the onslaught of pleasure. He clenched his eyes shut, to spare himself the mortification – and maybe the guilt too, and the need to think and heap the blame on himself since they would arrive soon enough anyway.   
  
Suzaku lay motionless on the sheets once every drop had been wrung out of him. It felt like a punishment, and perhaps it was if the horrible emptiness in his chest was anything to go by. His limbs were numb and he could feel the tears in his eyes when he blinked.   
  
Something hard brushed against his left thigh as the prince shifted upward, fingers trailing a slick line up his stomach and chest. Suzaku cracked an eye open when he tasted a salty tang on his wet lips. He tilted his head and took the long digits into his mouth, sucking and licking every drop of fluid left on them. There was a slight change of pattern in his lord’s breathing and Suzaku sucked harder, fully expecting the prince to take him while his body was still weak with tingles of orgasm. Instead, the hand left his mouth and turned him onto his back.   
  
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how pathetic he must seem. But the prince didn’t say anything, only taking his hand, kissing the base of his palm.   
  
“You hate me,” he finally said, plainly, almost softly.  
  
Suzaku decided that the world was mocking him. “No,” he answered weakly, followed with an even weaker laugh. “I can’t even if I want to.”  
  
The violet eyes softened, but before he could convince himself that they did, his lord had looked away and proceeded to shower attention to his body, hands gliding over his skin as if appreciating the result of his work. And then came the kisses, on the contour of his shoulder, light, gentle, the silent ghost of apology. Suzaku wished he could scream when he felt it tearing down his walls, baring his heart open once more just as easily. He didn’t want to understand this, this sort of gentleness that flickered to life and died as it saw fit. Only because it was easy to play with his heart like this…  
  
“Open your legs for me.”  
  
Suzaku stifled a gasp when one hand reached the inside of his thigh, caressing the sensitive skin lightly. He stared at the red, velvet drape rising above his head to form a canopy, refusing to look at the other man, hate swirling thickly inside him like mud. It would have been easier if the prince just took what he wanted – not making him do and admit things that would only hurt in the end. Swallowing the humiliation, he spread his legs open to accommodate his lord’s form between them, and silently waited for the preparation to finish, still not taking his eyes away from the blood-red curtain.   
  
The hands were now guiding his thighs, tilting them upward to lift his buttocks off the bed slightly. He shut his eyes, fighting against an instinct to recoil when the prince started to push inside, desperately telling himself that it was different this time. Not the emperor, not a repeat of his nightmare – although this could as well be another nightmare, the sharp sting, the pulsating pain, and the much dreaded satisfaction of being filled by the only man he ever wanted to. Suzaku tipped his head back as the thrust was repeated, again, and again, and again, and again until a cadence was established and it was a sensual dance of two bodies becoming one. He almost sobbed – this was what he wanted, what he needed, what he craved. A strange – _painful_ – mix of happiness, mortification, anger, and raw, almost searing warmth in the knowledge of what he was doing right now.   
  
His growing arousal twitched when the familiar pleasure burst through him again, leaving him aching, wanting for more. He felt the trickle of heat gathering between his splayed legs, little rocks at the start of an avalanche, and failed to modulate the small, needy whimpers escaping his mouth into something more dignified. His hands, empty and much too intimidated to touch his lord, were prepared to mangle the sheets when another wave of pleasure shot up his spine.  
  
“Suzaku.”   
  
His eyes snapped open immediately. The voice was strange, oddly quiet despite the hint of breathlessness underlying it, and the sight which greeted him was that of his prince, bent over him, watching him with a sort of intensity that pierced a needle straight through his heart.  
  
Something inside him burst into tiny pieces. “I’m sorry,” the thin, choked words had fallen from his lips before his lord could say anything else, a series of panted gasps as he repeated them over and over again in a desperate litany. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–”  
  
Suzaku froze, the rest of the miserable plea – because it was guilt, a distant part of his brain recognised, for allowing himself to be taken by the emperor – caught in his throat when a pair of lips pressed onto his half-parted ones. The shock that echoed through him was a paralyzing chant, and he moaned, first quiet, and then louder with the bliss of a child getting his most wanted present.   
  
Coherent thoughts abandoned him when he felt the older man moving lower to kiss the column of his neck and wrapping a hand around his aching hardness. Every shred of restraint simply dissolved then, mere muted collections from the distant past as he wounded his arms around the prince, his legs drawing him in even deeper, hot and stiff and painfully good inside him. Every thrust, every stroke sent him closer and closer, reducing him to a writhing, moaning mess.  
  
Their climax came too soon, a fluttering canon, a chase of two voices. It was like falling too fast, only that there was a person holding him – his shuddering body, and the fractured heart thundering inside his chest. He listened to the half-sounds leaving his mouth, a poor, unintelligible echo of refined words, but Suzaku didn’t care. Because he lived for it, gladly, this fraction of a moment when he could feel that his prince was his and only his.   
  
It was mind-numbing, even frightening how everything fell into perspective, colourless pieces scattered across the span of now and then and the future, between Japan and Britannia, spiralling down to this moment, here, with him.  
  
“You are mine,” the prince declared, stirring damp locks curling just above his ear and something else much more vulnerable inside him. Suzaku looked up, meeting his lord’s gaze, heavy with satiety and possessiveness which torn and mended him at the same time.   
  
“Yes,” the answer rolled off his tongue faintly, a whisper, a simple confession. There was no use denying it, not when he had arrived to a point where he had to pause if he was asked to choose between his country and his lord. If it wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what it was.  
  
And then his mouth was taken into another kiss. Not as loving, too much like a calculated study of control, claiming and taking and marking, but it might be just what he needed. There was balance in this, the good and the bad, the fair and the ugly, love and hate – all spelling a promise, making sure that he wouldn’t drown too deeply in one of them. A half-life, he thought bitterly, but at least not too devastating.  
  
Suzaku whimpered quietly when the warmth of the other man’s body left him. A strange feeling of loss overwhelmed him, so much that he couldn’t breathe for a few moments. It gradually eased into something more bearable, and then a blurred awareness like cutting a first swath across the morning mist. He stared at the red, velvet canopy – the night hadn’t changed – and vaguely realised that he must clean himself. Legs still trembling slightly, he slowly moved toward the edge of the bed, taking great care not to disturb the prince.  
  
“Where are you going?” The question was sharp and the grip around his wrist was almost painful. Suzaku turned around, finding his lord frowning at him, accusing through half-lidded eyes.  
  
“I…” he faltered, unsure of where he stood now, what he was, apart from his role as a knight, to his lord. The night hadn’t changed, but something in his world had shifted, an excess trickle to the other end of hourglass. He swallowed and picked up his unfinished sentence. “I just…need to use the bathroom for a minute, Your Highness.”  
  
The fingers loosened, letting him go, and Suzaku had stood up and fled toward the bathroom door before he could see those eyes softening – trapping him in yet another cycle of loving and hoping and despairing.  
  
But as he closed the door behind him and sank to the cold tiled floor, arms wrapped tight around his body to keep the sobs inside, he knew that he had never really escaped from them. That stubborn, stupid part of him could never give up.  
  
It was what he had been, what he would always be. A dreamer.

  
  
_**End** _

 


	11. A Matter of Punctuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suzaku is late and his subordinates decide to go look for him.

Claire Barton was anxious.

In fact, Claire Barton was currently fighting against a severe case of panic attack. Not only that it was already seven-thirty in the morning, the final preparation for their departure had been supposed to begin about half-an-hour ago. She had done everything she could to get things in motion, but without the person who was officially responsible for the entire business actually present, the results so far had been lacking at best.

So where the hell was he?

“Lady Barton,” a soldier approached her, an anxious look on his face, “it is time to contact the California Base, as well as the Camulos Knight in Area 11 to coordinate the final escort plan.”

Claire stopped her restless pacing and glared at the unsuspecting soldier. “I have no authority to make the call,” she replied tersely. These plain, white walls surrounding this office were driving her mad.

“But Lord Kururugi…”

“I know,” she hissed, stomping an urge to tear her hair out. _Where the hell was he?_ They only had two more hours before the departure and she didn’t have the barest idea what to do in this kind of situation. Suzaku had never been late – he was always punctual if not early. In the very rare, very extraordinary occasions when he did have to run in late, he would always inform the parties involved and leave proper instructions which would serve to relieve them from any trouble caused by his momentary absence.

But not on this occasion. There was no word at all, not in writing, in words, in whisper, or in any manner at all for that matter. And to promote bad to worse, his cell phone was also currently unreachable. Claire had seriously considered barging into his room at least fifty times, but still had enough common sense to remind herself that it was _wrong_ , not to mention inappropriate on so many levels. And it wasn’t as if she could just enter the Imperial Palace anytime she wanted to, a commoner that she was. But at this rate…

“What are you doing?”

Claire whirled around quickly, almost sobbing in relief when she recognised who had just walked into the room. “Jacques!”

“I thought we should have started half-an-hour ago,” he said, barely noticing the distress and frustration on her face, and proceeded to deposit his bags onto the couch. “Where is Suzaku?”

“He hasn’t arrived,” she answered flatly.

It took Jacques a few blank seconds to fully process the sentence. And then he looked up, staring at her with a strange expression on his face. “What do you mean ‘he hasn’t arrived’?”

She gave him a scathing look. “What do you think?”

A few more blank seconds. Claire decided that she could have gotten along really well with blankness and its equally silent siblings if the situation had been a little different. Jacques, who seemed every bit as lost as she was, finally opened his mouth again. “But that’s impossible,” he said, sounding incredulous. “Have you tried to contact him?”

Claire threw him a glare. “Of course I have! I’ve been trying for at least five-hundred times in the last half-an-hour, but his cell phone is off and I don’t have any idea where he is and it’s already–”

“Okay, all right,” Jacques interrupted her hastily. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I know,” she sighed and spread her arms in a helpless gesture. “I’ve sent a word through the palace guard, but it isn’t as if I have lots of connections in there. There is a fair chance that the message won’t be passed along at all – you know what they are like.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he quickly said before she could plunge into another frenzied rant. But when he was just about to explain how, another soldier entered the room and gave them both a perfect salute.

“A message from the Imperial Guard, my lady,” he addressed her in a clipped, precise military tone. “Lord Kururugi is not in his chamber.”

Claire wasn’t sure if she should feel better or worse after the news. Suzaku would have called if he was already on his way, or had something else more important to attend first. But there had been no call whatsoever so far, and yet, he was not in his room.

“I don’t understand.” She finally turned toward her friend, looking for any kind of explanation. “Does that mean he’s already on his way?”

Unlike a few minutes prior, the look Jacques was giving her in return was anything but puzzled. “I think that means we have a very big problem,” he told her calmly, a barely suppressed smirk on the curve of his lips.

\-----

When the noise first arrived in his ears, it jerked him out of his sleep. Suzaku blinked, several times to clear the heavy fog in his eyes, and tried to place the day, hour, location, et cetera.

The second time it did, he shot up to a sitting position, but only succeeded halfway because the top of his head collided against something. Tears sprang to his eyes as he sank to one hand, the pain raw and sharp on his new, muddled consciousness. It took him a few long minutes to get everything straight again, and then his world lurched to a stop, when he looked up and came to the sight of his lord with a hand clasped to his left cheek.

“Oh god,” Suzaku whispered – working out _one plus one equalled he had hurt a prince_ – and then panicked. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t– oh, I’m sorry, I’m–“

The thoroughly familiar feeling of being robbed of the power of speech ambushed him. He fell back to the bed with the older man’s weight on top of him, lips completely sealed by another mouth. This he couldn’t figure out. Since when had a kiss been a punishment?

“From now on, I will take your ‘I’m sorry’ as an invitation to kiss you,” Schneizel said once he had let go of his mouth, a little smile on his lips. “I am fine, so don’t fuss.”

“But…” Suzaku faltered, at a loss of words. There was a reddening spot on the older man’s upper cheek and his hand reached up, but had stopped before it could make any real contact. It was the prince who lowered his head and bridged the distance, until his left cheek touched recoiling, timid fingers. Suzaku bit his lips, heart hammering in his chest, when he gingerly touched the warm skin, painfully aware that this was another first of many things he had yet to discover.

“It may leave a bruise,” he finally found his voice, small though it was.

“Accidents do happen now and then,” the prince replied placidly and kissed the tip of his fingers. It was hard to believe that his face still couldn’t hold off a blush when his lord did something like this to him. Suzaku couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever grow out of it.

“Still, Your Highness, I’m so–” he stopped himself short, remembering the earlier threat. “I mean, I sincerely apologise.”

Schneizel chuckled. “I think we need to add a few more rules to that game,” he said in mock sombreness and leant down to capture his lips once more.

And then the noise came again. This time, a part of his mind quickly identified it as the sound of someone knocking at the door – and much, _much_ closer at that. He broke away from the kiss with a start and turned toward the source of the sound. An Imperial Guard was standing in front of the widely open connecting door, wearing a very guilty, very uncomfortable look on his face.

Suzaku felt like he could die from embarrassment alone. There was no masking his position right now other than that of the prince’s lover. Not that he harboured any illusion that it could still be masked in any way, but at least no one had ever discovered them in _this_ fashion before. Until this morning.

“I apologise for intruding, Your Highness,” the guard began with a voice that sounded more like a terrified squeak, “but a Lord Sedgwick insists on meeting with Lord Kururugi in a matter of utmost importance.”

He paled. _Oh shit._

Schneizel looked down at him with arched eyebrows when he started to squirm. “Lord Sedgwick?”

“The departure,” he breathed out. “Your Highness, perhaps I should–“

“Go,” the prince concluded, but still hadn’t moved away. “Only first forgive the selfishness I asked of you last night.”

Suzaku blinked. Did he ever have the right to call it selfishness when the fault had been his from the beginning? There was something seriously wrong here.

“But I dare not, my lord,” he replied, eyes downcast, voice only a little above a whisper.

“Then I shall be guilty of this offence forever?”

“No,” he said hurriedly, grasping the prince’s arms on pure impulse. “That isn’t what I mean at all. If it was a fault, then it was deservedly mine.”

Schneizel gave him a solemn look, a hint of disapproval in his expression. “You’ll do well to remember that to desire blame more than what is yours to claim is also greed,” he said and finally moved away from above him. “We shall talk later. You need to hurry now.”

Suzaku didn’t quite understand how, perhaps the heavens had granted him courage – the kind of courage that usually killed a man – because at that moment he found himself reaching for the prince’s face and kissing him. Mere pressing of lips, a feather-light touch, no longer than two seconds or so, but it felt like he had just thrown himself to the front line without Lancelot, practically unarmed. The quiet amusement in his lord’s expression barely helped if at all.

“I…” he muttered, cheeks burning, “I really should go now.”

“Indeed,” the prince nodded, a smile flitting across his lips. Suzaku quickly climbed down from the bed before he could do anything stupider, and noted, with a strange mix of relief and despair, that the guard had vanished. He picked up his clothes, put them on as fast as he could while all the way aware that his prince was still watching him. This day seemed to be his highlight in many things – lateness, imprudence, and boldness so far, and he had been up for less than five minutes.

Uniform far from impeccable, he rushed out from the prince’s quarters and noticed Jacques who was waiting just in front of the door. A grin split up his face when he saw his superior officer in this somewhat less-than-presentable appearance.

“Well, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

“Jacques, I’m so sorry,” Suzaku said in a low voice, trying to ignore the inscrutable looks he was getting from the rest of the guards.

“No alarm clock in there?”

“Drop it,” he muttered as they started to walk down the corridor, to the direction of his room.

“I will, if you answer me this one question,” the other man replied, assuming a serious tone. “How was it possible that you were summoned by the emperor last night but ended up in the prince’s bed this morning?”

Suzaku sent him a glare. “You want to mock me right now?”

“No, not at all,” was the innocent reply, complete with a suspiciously harmless smile. “I’m genuinely curious. You have to admit that it’s a problem that defies logic.”

Suzaku snorted but said nothing. Jacques went on, “You have no idea the length of the trouble I must go into to convince the guards that this is a perfectly serious problem. Difficult cannot even begin to describe it. And then of course no one wanted to do it, because there’s this inviolable rule that a prince in his bedroom must never be disturbed except in a case of fire.” He paused, glancing at Suzaku’s wrinkled clothes, and added with a wide smirk hovering over his face, “But I guess it’s worth it in the end.”

“I’m glad I could be a source of your amusement,” Suzaku said dryly. Jacques grinned at him.

“A fair return, after what I had risked,” he said mildly. “Now I only hope that His Highness is willing to show mercy to the poor man who only carried out his duty.”

Suzaku decided to ignore him. They had arrived to one of the smaller guest bedrooms he had been assigned to for the duration of his stay in the palace, and then he remembered that he hadn’t done any packing yesterday.

Great. Just perfect.

It was Jacques who solved the problem for him. “Go straight to bath,” he said, his voice taking on a more business-like fashion. “I’ll take care of your clothes.”

Suzaku nodded gratefully at him and rushed toward the bathroom. A tiny part of him was secretly grateful for all this haste and hurry because he didn’t exactly have time to reflect on what had happened last night. And this morning, yes. Later perhaps. Right now, it was still too much for him.

After the fastest shower he had ever taken, he pulled two clean towels from a rack near the stall, one to wrap his dirty clothes in and the other to dry himself and then present some kind of modesty around his waist. Jacques was tossing his clothes into a bag when he walked out.

“Do you know what you really need?” the other man was saying. “Clothes. Many, many clothes. All you have are these two identical knight uniforms, one full ceremonial attire, and really, you shouldn’t even keep this anymore,” he dropped the russet-coloured standard military outfit to the floor.

“Jacques!” Suzaku hissed and picked up the clothes, cramming them inside the bag. “Can we not have this discussion right now?”

“It will come up sooner or later,” Jacques pointed out. “You’re now His Highness’s personal knight. Don’t you think it’s–”

“Not now,” Suzaku cut him off irritably and started to dress himself up. Jacques stared at him.

“Your prince is a very fashionable man–”

“Okay, now you’re only doing this to irritate me, aren’t you?”

"That is the most unfounded accusation I've ever heard," Jacques said indignantly, quick to defend his virtue and yet unable to hold back a grin.

Suzaku fixed him a glare but abandoned the subject. “How much more time do we have?” he asked, fastening some of the obligatory decorations on his uniform.

The other man consulted his watch. “Well, it’s exactly twenty minutes past eight, so one hour and ten minutes.” He glanced up at his superior officer. “You think we can do it?”

“Let’s find out,” Suzaku said grimly and grabbed his bag.

But when it turned out that the prince appeared one hour late, a few minutes just after the preparation had finished, Suzaku wondered if he should be at all surprised.

**_End_ **


	12. As Shadow Stirs

“He looks thoroughly unfriendly.”

Suzaku glared at Jacques and was about to reprimand him for this unguarded comment – in front of the other soldiers no less – when Claire decided to join the abusive discussion.

“What do you expect?” she said viciously, leaning closer to read the profile under the scowling photograph properly. “Just look at this summary. Lord Alaric Vandewalle – I’m not even commenting on the fancy name – the only son and heir of the old, influential Vandewalle family. Attended the best private schools from elementary to college, always graduating top of his class with flying colours. One of the youngest and finest graduates of the Imperial Military Academy, and immediately recruited into the ranks of imperial knights before joining the Camulos Knight four years later, the then newly-formed elite force under Prince Schneizel. Has been regarded as their unofficial leader since then and continues to be one of the best knights in the empire.” She made a small, disgusted sound at the back of her throat. “No wonder he looks like a pompous ass. He’s so hideously perfect.”

“And he’s coming here,” Suzaku reminded them both sternly and closed the folder before any of them could come up with another unpleasant remark concerning their guest. Jacques picked up the tone of his voice and raised an eyebrow.

“My point is this is the kind of man you’ll have to deal with from now on,” he said, sounding both placatory and interested at the same time. “The elites. The crème de la crème of the empire.”

“The most snobbish nobles the empire can produce, you mean,” Claire said callously.

Jacques threw the female officer an amused look. “Did I just sense a little personal prejudice?”

“That’s the truth,” she answered staunchly, her chin raised in a challenging manner. Suzaku massaged the bridge of his nose to ease a worsening headache.

“I’m beginning to regret ever showing this to either of you,” he declared loudly. “We will arrive at the meeting point in less than half-an-hour and _this_ is what we are discussing?”

They finally looked at him, one with sympathy, the other a frown. “You need to relax,” Jacques pointed out. Suzaku shot him a dark look.

“I _am_ the most relaxed person in the room, if you haven’t noticed.”

“No, you aren’t,” he countered easily, his typical mocking smile back on his face. “You’re intimidated, but there’s really no reason to be. Your summary is just as impressive if not better. Lord Suzaku Kururugi, the first Number to be recruited into the ranks of imperial knights. Jumping from the rank of mere Private to Brigadier General in an incredibly short span of one year. The personal knight of not only one, but _two_ members of the Imperial Family, and practically the only person in the whole world who can get away without any punishment after physically injuring his lord and master, the eminent Prince Schneizel el Britannia himself.”

Claire burst into laughter, her frown dissolving as quickly as a trail of smoke against the wind. Suzaku found himself fighting back a blush and failing entirely.

“You’ve promised never to mention that again,” he growled, scowling at the other man. He had been so miserable throughout the day, mostly because every time he looked at his prince he would be reminded to what had happened earlier in the morning, and Jacques had continued to notice the anguished look on his face – and then correctly guessed its cause each time, to Suzaku’s utmost mortification.

“You’re on edge,” the reply came with a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t worry too much. He’ll like you once he meets you. God knows we all did.”

“Yeah, right,” Claire cut in with a derisive snort. “He’s a pompous ass who’s used to being at the top of everything and Suzaku here is about to kick him to the sidelines. I’ll say it won’t be exactly an easy job to bend someone like that.”

Jacques looked at her, exasperation clear on his face. “Why, thank you so much, Claire,” he said sarcastically. “Your tremendous contribution is appreciated, even if its service is rather poor if any at all.”

She ignored him, her narrowed eyes fixed on her superior. “It’s a grave insult to their kind. He’ll seek to trample you, the prince’s knight or not.”

Suzaku smiled wryly. “If that’s truly the case, I think he will discover that I’m not that easy to trample, the prince’s knight or not,” he answered matter-of-factly, and earned himself a grin which was a part pleased and a part roguish.

“Make sure you show him that,” she said, sounding satisfied. This, without fail, triggered another comment from Jacques.

“With the kind of vicious sentiment you’re having for nobles, I won’t be surprised if you end up marrying one of them in a few years,” he said dryly.

Suzaku suddenly wished that their dreaded guest had arrived as his two friends plunged into another round of word-jousting.

\-----

At thirty of age, Lord Alaric Vandewalle cut a striking figure even among the finest knights of Britannia. As Lord Gael Barringham, another member of the Camulos Knight and one of his closest friends had said laughingly once, he was the backbone of the team, the defender of their ranks, the captain and leader in all but name. The rest of the knights generally agreed with this description and took care to follow his instructions when they were given, despite the supposed equality of their status.

Alaric never minded. It was his principal belief that a group, no matter how small or exceptionally staffed, required a leader to function well. The problem with Camulos Knight was that its office of leader was to be held by no other except His Highness’s personal knight, a position which had been vacant for years – until a month ago, that was. This rule, he understood, had been established with the purpose of avoiding any inner conflict in mind. Nevertheless, it was also a fact that no one had ever tried to challenge his authority so far. In his opinion – everyone’s opinion, actually – the most obvious solution would have been to appoint him the prince’s knight.

His Highness, as it appeared, had a different plan.

To say that he was not disappointed would be stretching the truth too far. It was a highly coveted position and increasingly so as the power of the Second Prince grew each day. He realised that there was envy too as he stood there, looking up at the white Knightmare which had struck intense, even paralysing fear among the enemy of Britannia. He was, by all standards, a man not easily impressed – and these stories had been exaggerated to the point of absurdity to merit any of his opinion in the first place – but as Lancelot glared down at him, he wondered if there wasn’t a grain of truth in them.

It was an impressive machine albeit slightly unusual in design – but he had heard quite a bit about its creator’s eccentricity. Its armaments were varied, more than his own Knightmare, and possibly more advanced too. And if the reports he had read about its level of mobility were dependable, then it was truly a masterpiece of the Research and Development Department which he had before his eyes.

Its pilot, however, was a different case.

Lord Vandewalle frowned. He had seen _him_ , on television and newspaper reporting the knighting ceremony. Very young, relatively small in stature, and far from impressive as far as the word goes. For a knight of an imperial prince, he was an unusual choice.

And then there was something his mother had mentioned, about the boy’s relationship with Prince Schneizel. A general of the Imperial Army, she was not one for rumours, so he knew better than to dismiss it as such. The popular belief was that Kururugi’s role did not stop at being a knight. But His Highness never did anything without a good reason, she had added, eyes sharp on her only son. Proceed carefully.

“Lord Vandewalle?”

Alaric turned his head slightly and noticed a young woman with red, flaming hair, standing in a perfect salute toward him. “Lieutenant Colonel Claire Barton, Sir,” she said. “Welcome to Avalon. I will escort you to the prince’s private office.”

He nodded once and walked his feet to follow her. Time to see with his own eyes.

\-----

There was something distinctly wrong with this office.

For one, it had windows – huge, transparent windows on the right and left sides of the room. Suzaku was under the impression that the office of the commander of the ship – and a prince at that – was supposed to be safe and secure. But this one had _windows_. And they were aboard a battleship.

To be fair, Suzaku had to admit that despite having visited this office many times before, he had never quite recognised these windows as a threat before. Now, when the prince’s safety was perceptibly a constant, predominant thought in his mind, he found himself deeply troubled. So many things could happen. If in a case of a battle, an enemy with a Knightmare managed to break through their ranks and saw the prince, say, sitting behind his desk talking on the phone like he did now, one could only imagine what would happen.

Suzaku rested his head on the thick glass and sighed, eyes seeing past the glimmering horizon of the sea. Maybe he was overreacting. Despite all his remonstrances to Jacques’s accusation earlier, he was, in fact, intimidated. This was different from the tournament. He had to make a good impression without the aid of his piloting skill, to a nobleman who was not only one of the best knights there was, but also the unofficial captain of the elite company he was about to lead. He might have spent the last month at His Majesty’s court, but Suzaku couldn’t say if he was at all confident to meet this man.

“Are you nervous?”

The voice startled him, coming so close from behind his left ear. Suzaku turned around, or at least tried to, but a pair of hands had settled on his shoulders and kept him in place, facing the window. The call had ended, he realised – and felt incredibly foolish that he had just noticed the lack of noise above the ship’s quiet hum.

“No, my lord,” he finally managed to locate his voice.

There was a moment of silence as the prince took one step closer, successfully trapping his knight between his body and the solid glass. And then he spoke again, his tone still lingering above anything specific, “You have a good reason to be. He is the best out of them, a remarkable soldier and a brilliant commander.”

“Is he?” Suzaku murmured, and wondered why his voice echoed like the pathetic sound produced when someone had put their fingers around his throat – and they were squeezing, slowly, tightly.

“The very finest.”

He looked up, craning his neck so he could see the prince’s face. “Then why wasn’t Lord Vandewalle chosen to be Your Highness’s knight?” he asked, his voice just a shade too sharp. There was also a trace of challenge in it, and perhaps the slightest complacency born from a newfound confidence in their intimacy, but Suzaku knew, with the certainty of the sea raging beneath their ship right now, that he had gone too far. It was not his place to question his lord’s decisions, and even less to flaunt them in his face. The latter especially, he recognised, was an unpardonable insult.

But the expression on Schneizel’s face did not change, and neither did his voice. “I need him elsewhere,” he answered steadily, “just as I need you here.”

“But I’m not–”

A little gasp of surprise put and end to his sentence as the prince kissed him, lips against lips. Suzaku tensed, and then tried not to sigh in relief as realisation caught up with him and tension melted from his muscles. He was still not sure where he stood now, what was the state of their relationship, but when the fingers under his chin slipped beneath his collar, stroking his neck in a languid motion, he learned to ignore these more trivial things in favour of just _feeling_.

The prince’s eyes were brighter when they parted, as warm and indulging as their close proximity. His lips were tingling with the aftertaste of pleasure and Suzaku closed his eyes as the hand climbed to his chin, tracing the line of his jaw, a thumb resting against his lower lip. He could feel the faint caress of desire, its scent sweet and intoxicating, and quickly becoming much too overpowering that he simply surrendered when the prince led his mouth into another dance.

“You need to stop judging yourself,” Schneizel said, softly, but with a hint of steel beneath the self-possessed tone. And then he pulled away, just far enough to regard his knight with a pensive gaze. “Or is it actually me whom you wish to judge?”

Suzaku swallowed, scavenging just enough strength to push a reply past his lips. “What could possibly be the charge, Your Highness?” he asked quietly.

“My inability to protect you.”

The point-blank answer locked him in a stunned silence, until he managed a small, shaky smile. “Shouldn’t it work the other way around, sire, for I am the knight?” he said, his voice a pitiful echo of something far more powerful.

“Not in this case,” Schneizel said decisively and his hand was now tilting Suzaku’s chin, holding it in place. “Our oath, Lord Kururugi, is a two-way road.”

Suzaku fought against an urge to lower his eyes or in any way look away from that piercing gaze. He knew only too well what the older man was referring to, those protections and privileges one earned in return for one’s devotion. But he didn’t think it would have mattered – there was no one who could go against the emperor, and the prince had too much at stake to start defying his father at this point. He was just one of the many pawns tangled in this intricate mess, and his value stopped at the range of his service, nothing more.

“It does not matter,” he finally answered – a defeated whisper. Schneizel’s eyes hardened and his fingers were now an iron clamp on his knight’s face.

“You may dismiss many things, Suzaku,” the prince said, “but not the violation to your person.”

“What would Your Highness have me do?” he blurted out and turned around fully to face the older man, his voice shrill with long-suppressed anger and despair. “What other choice did I have? I could not refuse. Not if I still want to stay in His Majesty’s court.”

The silence was painful, mostly because he knew there was no answer to his question – none that could make it any less painful. Between the devil and the demon, there was no lesser evil, only two paths ahead and an obligation to choose.

“Your job description does not include this,” the prince said quietly. Suzaku looked at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Protecting the interest of my lord? Yes, it does.”

There wasn’t a moment’s pause when his chin was suddenly released and the same hand pressed his face against the older man’s chest. Suzaku blinked, feeling the hot sting in his eyes, and wondered whether it was something his face couldn’t help but give away or the glimpse of that raw pain he had caught in his lord’s expression. What he did know was that he had screwed up. Badly. So bad, in fact, that they had reached this stage and were unable to turn back.

“Not that far.” It was a quiet whisper that stirred fine strands of hair on the top of his head, thrumming the strings of his heart as another arm came around his back and held him closer. “Never that far.”

Suzaku bit his tongue to keep his silence. He wanted to say something about it being his duty, but knew that it would make no difference at this point. They could not return to where they had been before, not with this thing with the emperor hanging between them like a debt of blood, an eternal seal of silence. He tried to bury his face deeper, to revel in the feeling of being held in his prince’s arms, but could only think of Kreindler, and the emperor, and everything they had done – everything he had let himself do.

“It was my decision,” he murmured quietly – and couldn’t help but love the way his voice was muffled by the smooth fabric of Schneizel’s coat.

“Without my permission?” came the reply, low and dangerous.

“I…” Suzaku faltered, washed over by a jumble of thoughts and emotions. His right hand came up to grasp his lord’s arm, an impulse born from need, because no matter how close they were right now, he still felt that they were drifting farther apart. He swallowed and tried again, “Of course it will only be proper if Your Highness gives his permission…”

“Do you want me to?”

He looked up, stunned, as the older man released him just as easily and now was regarding him quietly, face expressionless. The question echoed in his head, lost in the cacophony of many others it had stirred.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with want,” he finally said, his voice trembling. Why were they even discussing this?

A slight pause, and then a smile curved the prince’s lips, and there was certain tightness about it, like the faraway look in his eyes, that twisted Suzaku’s stomach painfully. “Then there should never have been any question about permission,” Schneizel said, turning away from him. He returned behind his desk, once more the proud king that he was, always calm, always in control, and he left his knight to unravel the knots alone.

Suzaku closed his eyes and crushed the beginning of hurt under his heels. It was a very peculiar dance, this, loving a prince who wielded power as skilfully as a master swordsman did his blade. Countless rules and restrictions, duties and circumstances – minding his every step and turn, loving only when he was allowed to love, bowing his head in silence when he was not. He used to have a very different conception about love, how it was supposed to liberate, not confine – and he _had_ found that experience with Euphie, as brief as the moment had lasted. It was almost the exact opposite with Schneizel and yet he couldn’t escape, this strange union of heaven and hell when the prince kissed and made love to him, because nothing had ever felt as agonising as it was beautiful.

Time marched on, regardless. He breathed in deeply when the intercom hummed and Claire’s voice came in through the link, announcing that she had brought Lord Vandewalle. The prince beckoned him to come closer with a glance and a flick of fingers, and then gave his permission.

It was different than just looking at a photograph. Jacques had been right about the man looking unfriendly, but to stand actually in his presence gave him a slightly different impression. Lord Vandewalle, Suzaku decided, was everything his lord had described – a remarkable soldier, a brilliant commander, the very finest of knights. He listened in respectful silence as they exchanged pleasantries, his gaze never leaving the guest and yet never meeting his eyes either.

“I believe you have yet to meet my knight,” the prince finally turned toward him.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Lord Vandewalle replied and Suzaku steeled himself, aware of the glint of appraisal in the other man’s eyes. He stepped forward and took the offered hand, allowing the barest hint of a smile to grace his lips as he returned every polite remark. He didn’t miss the slight frown on the stern face, or the hint of displeasure in the grim set of his mouth as those eyes swept a careful gaze upon his figure.

Lord Vandewalle, he surmised solemnly, didn’t like him very much.

“Now, perhaps you will tell me the real purpose of your coming here?” the prince spoke again, drawing the attention of his two servants back to him.

The older knight did not waste time with pretence. He straightened up to stand in the most correct attitude and answered readily, “Three days ago, we came across certain information which might be important if it turned out to be true. However, we could not afford the risk of apprising Your Highness through any means of communication other than in a direct, face-to-face meeting for security reasons.”

Schneizel nodded, accepting his explanation, and waved for him to continue. Suzaku caught the swift glance sent in his direction, but stood unflinching as his prince had said nothing in opposition of his presence. Lord Vandewalle seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion, and then continued in a stonier voice.

“It is about the Order of the Black Knight, Sir.”

\-----

The next half-an-hour was a blur to him.

Suzaku couldn’t really describe how he felt. It was such a surreal experience, to stand there and listen as theories and evidences of the resurrection of the Black Knight Order were submitted to his lord, despite the awful certainty he had been clinging to in the past whole year that he had killed their leader. It was like pausing at the edge of the dream, looking at both sides and unable to decide which was real. There was no definite proof yet, Lord Vandewalle said gravely, but they were fairly certain that Zero was alive.

Zero was alive.

Lelouch was alive.

Lord Vandewalle went on, explaining a few encounters they had had with what they presumed to be the extension of the Black Knight Order, but Suzaku hardly processed any word. A part of him was besieged by guilt, because despite everything, there was relief, caught in the stitches of long forgotten summer days. He was relieved that he hadn’t been guilty of killing his friend, and for some reasons it disgusted him. The rest sank into his heart with the crushing weight of emptiness, a heavy, blank void of nothing, and he asked himself where the happiness was – _his old friend is alive_ – or the scorching anger – _Euphie’s murderer is alive_ – or whether they had overwhelmed each other so much that all left for him was the torn, ravaged field of ruins.

He glanced up, noting the pensive look on his prince’s face, and thought of the stories he had built around his last encounter with Zero. They were not exactly lies, but the fact that he had withheld the secret behind the terrorist’s mask from the prince seemed much more significant now that the person in question was apparently still alive. It was a grave error on his part, and one which might not be so easily forgiven, and with the current state of their relationship…

“The Order of the Black Knight.” The prince was leaning into his chair, a thoughtful frown faintly creasing his brow. “And you are as certain as you can be?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

A few seconds of meditative silence followed, and then Schneizel asked again, “Have you reported this to the emperor?”

“These are all mere speculations, my lord, and one surely cannot come to His Majesty with nothing but speculations. There is no substantial proof, not even a flimsy one which is free of any ambiguity.”

“There rarely is, unless it is too late,” the prince said mildly and his gaze remained astute on one of his must trusted servants. Lord Vandewalle returned it with a steadfast look of his own.

“I am a member of the Camulos Knight,” he answered carefully, but with a clear resonance of decisiveness beneath the overtone of his voice, “and a man proud of what he is.”

There was a slight pause, during which Suzaku found himself trying to decipher everything which had just transpired – and earning a cold shiver down his spine as the result, a strange mix of pride and something much uglier. And then his master smiled, both eloquent and noncommittal at the same time.

“Is there anything else?”

“No, my lord.”

Schneizel nodded, still with the same equivocal smile. “Thank you, Alaric. I assume you will be joining us for the rest of the journey?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the reply was delivered without hesitation, although Suzaku sensed the sharp gaze flitting to his direction for a brief second, an almost challenge to his authority. “Eight of us in total, for I fear that there may be certain parties which are interested in preventing your return to Area 11. The rest are staying behind for the same reason.”

This explanation was duly accepted and Lord Vandewalle proceeded to excuse himself from the office, leaving the weight of his news hovering above their head. A drape of emptiness fell across the room, the solid mist which detached him from the prince despite their physical closeness.

“What do you think?”

Suzaku tore his gaze away from the wall and met his lord’s eyes with a blank look. Obviously it would not do to say that he was somewhat hopeful of the possibility that he hadn’t killed the prince’s long-lost brother. There might be an appropriate time for this confession, as doubtful as he was on the issue, but it was certainly not now.

“As far as assumptions go, it seems to be a correct one,” he finally said, opting for caution in the safe choice of answer.

“And their leader?”

Suzaku fought against the urge to show more than he was supposed to. “It’s still too early to say,” he said dully, ignoring the numbness growing inside him. He was getting really good at this. “Of course there’s the possibility of an impostor, as Zero conveniently wears a mask.”

Schneizel’s gaze, when it came to rest fully on him, was riddled with genuine curiosity. “You were the last person who saw him alive.”

Suzaku bit his lips. “Yes.”

And he still remembered nothing past that.

**_End_ **


	13. Haunted

  
“And this is His Highness’s schedule for the rest of the week.”  
  
Suzaku accepted the blue folder with a small, quiet nod. Miss Romeyer, the prince’s secretary, was a woman of thirty-odds with a stern face and sharp eyes behind a pair of glinting spectacles – and quite frankly, she scared the hell out of him.  
  
Unaffected by his discomfort, obvious or not, she plunged into detailed explanations of each event in the schedule. Suzaku listened in respectful silence, all the while trying to restrain an urge to fidget. He had spent at least two hours sitting in this brightly lit office, behind this neat, pristine, perfectly organised desk which made him want to splotch the polished surface with a few drops of ink. It would make this room seem more human, but then again, he considered the woman sitting across him, she didn’t seem all that human either. More like a machine made for secretarial purposes, stiff, callous, and briskly efficient in a manner that was intimidating rather than comforting.  
  
“As for the prince’s protection detail,” she was still speaking, deviating from a community event she was explaining for a moment, “it is coordinated and managed by a Major Hershkin. He has been in charge for almost three years now. I suggest you to arrange a meeting with him as soon as possible for further facts information on this area, seeing that he is now also working under you. I’m sure you, Lord Kururugi, also agree that there is nothing more important than His Highness’s safety.”  
  
Suzaku suppressed an urge to roll his eyes and only responded with another silent nod. He struggled to keep his fraying attention as Miss Romeyer continued with particulars of a musical exhibition which would take place at the end of the week, but his mind was in a violent whirl. He had read the reports Lord Vandewalle had submitted to the prince, and decided that the real Black Knight or not, the threats were genuine enough and potentially dangerous.  
  
In a way, things would be easier if it wasn’t the real thing, at least for him – but it would also mean that he had really killed Zero. And although he had lived with this conviction for almost a year, an old wound being ripped open for the second time never failed to bleed twice as painful.  
  
Zero. _Zero. Lelouch._  
  
Sometimes he wished that everything was easier – and then he would hate himself for daring to even wish for it.  
  
 _Lelouch._  
  
“I think that is all for now,” Miss Romeyer’s clinical voice cut into his swirling thoughts. Suzaku firmly ignored the bitter taste spreading in his mouth at the sickening jolt of hope the name had brought, and met her disheartening gaze squarely. “Are there any questions?”  
  
“Not at the moment, Ma’am,” he answered, quick enough to cover his lapse of attention.  
  
“Then perhaps we can move on to the next issue,” she said curtly and turned her attention to another folder, bearing the same official insignia but much thinner in comparison. “I understand that today we are also to talk about your domestic arrangement, Lord Kururugi.”  
  
Suzaku managed another nod. “Yes. His Highness has mentioned that it would be better to be taken care of as soon as possible,” he replied carefully.  
  
“Naturally,” she quickly said in agreement, but her voice was far from pleased. After a pointed glance at the clock on her desk, she said again, “Well then, let us proceed without delay. The morning is late and I believe you also still have other things to attend to.”  
  
“As far as options go,” she opened the folder but did not remove her gaze from him, “there are several to choose from. Since you are a high-ranked military officer, you are entitled to certain extent of privileges in term of accommodation, including housing and some other facilities in the military compound. There is also, of course, the option of finding your own place, any apartment or house of your choosing to live in, although the expense is also reasonably bigger. As for the third option,” she paused, a more noticeable frown wrinkling her brow as her eyes briefly darted toward the document. Her reluctance was obvious when she continued, “This is somewhat an unusual proposal, considering your status and the fact that you are not directly related to the Imperial Family, but His Highness has mentioned that you may also consider the option of residing in the Governor-General’s Villa.”  
  
Silence stumbled in. Suzaku decided that it was best to let it linger while he was being so intensely scrutinised. The prince had hinted on it a few times, but only in passing and with a casual manner which had always forced him to dismiss the idea from his mind as soon as possible. Now that it was apparently a viable option, he didn’t know what to think. Of course it was ridiculous – anyone would tell him so – and he still couldn’t fathom why the prince had bothered to mention it to Miss Romeyer at all.  
  
In the absence of his response, she had spoken again. “I will not pretend that understand the entire situation, Lord Kururugi, but I must say that such proceeding is inadvisable. It is imprudent, and to be honest, very unconventional if not unheard of.”  
  
Suzaku only looked at her. He was sorely tempted to point out that there had been nothing _conventional_ about his relationship with the prince for quite some time now, but was too intimidated by the way her glasses glinted at him to open his mouth. She was giving him a warning, he realised, and she was right.  
  
“I understand,” he finally said after a long moment of uninterrupted silence.  
  
Her gaze remained unsympathetic. “I was hoping you would,” she said flatly. “This is no trifling matter and every aspect must be carefully considered and taken into account. But as His Highness said, it will be better to be settled as soon as possible.” She scribbled a note and consulted the calendar sitting next to her clock. “Will one week be enough? You will have time to survey many potential places in the neighbourhood during your free time.”  
  
He gave her a small, polite smile, the best he could manage in that situation. It seemed that the decision had been made after all, with or without his consent.  
  
“One week will be enough, thank you,” he replied.  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
The feeling of the smooth, tight fabric sliding over his skin and basically every inch of his body made him sigh in quiet contentment. The pilot suit was new, now that he had officially become the Second Prince’s knight, and was evidently more elaborate than his old one in term of design and decoration. Suzaku always liked how it felt, the way the cool material clung to his body like a second layer of skin – and to be completely honest, he was relieved to be free of his knight uniform for once.  
  
When he emerged from the changing room, he was greeted by Cecile’s broad smile.  
  
“It looks nice on you,” she complimented. “I was afraid it would be too big, but seems like you have grown quite a lot over the past few months.”  
  
“I hadn’t been gone that long,” he protested, grinning even when he did.  
  
“Oh yes, you had,” she said adamantly. “Ever since Prince Schneizel appointed you to be his knight, you have been too busy to come down here. Not that I don’t understand, with all the lessons and preparations, but…” she paused, her eyes gaining a softer look as they quietly observed him. Suzaku didn’t think that he only imagined the hint of pride in her voice when she spoke again, “Yes, it was definitely that long. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown already.”  
  
“Cecile-san, I think you’re exaggerating,” he stated firmly.  
  
“I didn’t mean only in the physical sense,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You are now obviously taller than I am, yes, but there are other more impressive growths, Lord Kururugi, whether you realise it or not.”  
  
Suzaku smiled, this one not an engineered face smoothed into perfection, only the brighter side of honesty, and glanced around the hangar, grey-walled with lofty ceilings which seemed to encompass the entire world inside. After a morning with Miss Romeyer and acquainting himself with two members of the Camulos Knight who had clearly tried their best not to extend more than just the most basic courtesy toward him, he was really looking forward to spend a few hours with people he _actually_ knew – and liked – instead of strangers he had constantly surrounded himself with these last few weeks.  
  
“It feels strange to be here again,” he said with a small, appreciative sigh, taking notes of the little changes – and finding himself to be relieved that they weren’t many. It was the same place he had spent so many days in, waiting, worrying, laughing, wanting. Lancelot remained a strong, solid presence towering over them, a guardian armoured in white.  
  
“Reminds you of the old days, doesn’t it?” Cecile voiced his unspoken thoughts, the smile on her face unfaltering. “But of course now you’re all important, being the commander of the Camulos Knight and a Brigadier General.”  
  
“Not yet,” he corrected. “The ceremony is not until tomorrow, Cecile-san.”  
  
“Less than twenty-four hours,” she replied promptly, “which makes it a moot point.”  
  
Suzaku managed another smile, even if it was a little wane. “It still matters for me.”  
  
Hers faltered then, and faded into a completely different expression. “I didn’t mean…” she started, pausing for words and apologies that fluttered above them, out of reach as guilt contorted her face. “Of course you are always welcome here, Suzaku-kun. Nothing changes only because you are promoted.”  
  
“I know,” he murmured quietly, maintaining the half smile but looking away. He knew better than anyone else what it meant, what changes it would bring, inevitably. Sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t at all wrong, to mourn for a loss of companionship when it evidently brought him one step closer to what he wanted – two things which were not even on the same scale. But even now, to have friends was still a luxury for him.  
  
He almost jumped when a hand touched his left cheek. Cecile’s eyes were focused on him, hard and gentle at the same time.  
  
“Will you be all right?”  
  
Suzaku thought of things left unsaid, static words strung between the prince and him, and the smiles and pretences he had worn for the last few days that felt like decades. But of course they had no bearing. They even had nothing to do with his promotion.  
  
“Yes,” he nodded and tried a reassuring grin. “I just need to get away for a while. It gets a little overwhelming after some time.”  
  
“Of course.” Cecile accepted his lie just as smoothly and returned it with a smile as her hand squeezed his upper arm. “Well then, I think we better start now. We have many tests to run since you haven’t piloted Lancelot for months.”  
  
“There was no occasion for it,” he reasoned, following her to the workstation, “and custom Knightmares were not allowed in the Spring Tournament.”  
  
“You could have come and visited us,” she pointed out – although the reproach was softened with a quiet laugh afterward. “I think he must be quite bored too, only having people coming in here and gawking at him.”  
  
Suzaku arched his eyebrows. “Gawking?” This was certainly news to him.  
  
“I suppose they were only curious,” she answered cheerfully, motioning him to sit down on the empty chair next to hers, and started to type down lines of instructions. “With all the news and rumours, everyone wants to see Lancelot, the ‘White Demon’. Lloyd-san was rather annoyed with the lot of them though.”  
  
Suzaku felt his lips thinning and looked down at his empty hands. “It’s a terrible name for anyone to be associated with,” he murmured.  
  
The typing sound faltered, stumbling into a sudden pause, but then picked up again in a leisurely manner. “In a way, perhaps,” Cecile agreed, but there was something in her voice which made him glance up at her. She was still looking at the monitor, a small frown on her face. “But the truth is, Suzaku-kun, he has protected many lives by being the ‘White Demon’, by always putting himself on the frontline and charging out first. Many of the soldiers are grateful for that, terrible name or not.”  
  
“Not frightened?”  
  
“More like awed, I think,” she said mildly and regarded him from the corner of her eyes. “When it comes down to it, no one wants to die. And they are still alive – we all are. Isn’t it what really matters?”  
  
Yes, Suzaku decided, and for the first time since his princess had died, he thought of Lelouch and didn’t let it stray into something uglier.  
  
Because in truth, it was what really mattered.  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
The garden was beautiful in the fading light, with vines of shadow stealthily threading in between dying colours and smoothing the hard angles of rigid shapes. Suzaku followed the winding trail quietly, revelling in the breath of silence after spending the better part of his afternoon overseeing the hectic preparation for tomorrow’s ceremony. He would have been there still, squabbling with details and particulars if his lord had not invited him down for dinner in the Governor-General Villa.  
  
Which might just be as bad, now that he had the chance to think about it. With the current state of their relationship, Suzaku was not sure if he would enjoy a moment alone with the prince – but of course it was a part of his job and in reality, had nothing to do with his enjoyment at all. It was an order, and his duty was to obey.  
  
The garden path ended in a short flight of stairs which led him up to the entrance of a circular building situated a little apart from the residence. He nodded at the pair of guards standing on guard outside and let himself in. This was yet another part of the villa he had not previously known, not surprising considering the size of the entire compound. Suzaku decided that a meeting with Major Hershkin should take place as soon as possible. He needed to know every nook and cranny of the grounds – this knowledge was essential if he were to carry out his duty to protect the prince.  
  
He passed through a small foyer, dimly lit and sparsely furnished save for the glimmering chandeliers and a pair of marble statues, and then another door which opened up to a vast chamber filled with the sound of music. It was a tune unlike anything he had ever heard before, more tumultuous, more powerful, more chaotic – one could even say angrier. He had never thought that a piano could produce a sound like that.  
  
Suzaku stayed by the door, listening silently as his eyes studied the room, from the circular walls made entirely out of glass with dark wood interlacing in recurrent, meticulous patterns, to the glass ceiling which arched like a dome far above his head. He couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful it had been only half an hour before, bathed in the broken light of a deepening dusk. As it was now, two lamps on opposite sides of the room were the only instruments of lighting available, twin muted, shadowy glows in that giant cage made of glass. The grand piano, polished black wood reflecting the pale light, was the centrepiece.  
  
And behind that centrepiece sat his prince. Suzaku wasn’t sure how he felt as he stood there and watched – the handsome face drawn in concentration, shoulders hunched slightly, fingers flying over the black-and-white keys faster than his eyes could follow. It was certainly easier to pretend, to act like nothing had happened and go about their everyday business as usual. His master clearly preferred it that way, with the briskness, and then the outright dismissal of the matter like someone had only trespassed into his garden and plucked a few flowers without permission. It was the kind of manner expected from him too, Suzaku realised – after all, what else was there to do? – and that part of him who wanted more should just shut up forever.  
  
The piece ended with a trembling, echoing chord, dying slowly as if swallowed by the bleak silence. There was nothing then, just his heartbeat and the static hum that always lingered when everything else fell mute. And then the prince looked up and his eyes found him easily, like he had known all along that his knight was there.  
  
“How do you like it?”  
  
The question took him by surprise. Suzaku looked at his lord but dared not come near, as if an invisible hand was firmly holding him in place. He convinced himself that it was civility.  
  
“It is different from what Your Highness usually plays,” he finally said, silently wishing that he could come up with something smarter to say.  
  
The prince only smiled, in that thoroughly noncommittal way which only served to frustrate him since it conveyed nothing at all. “I was in the mood for something less refined,” he said placidly. Suzaku refrained from pointing out that anything like _that_ was hardly ‘less refined’ by any standard. “You have yet to answer the question.”  
  
“I…” he stumbled, not knowing what kind of opinion to give. He was hardly a connoisseur in music, let alone in the variety that his master relished.  
  
“I only asked if you liked it,” the older man reminded him and reached for a pair of gloves laid on the black cushioned seat to put them on. “There is no right or wrong in a matter of opinion.”  
  
Aware that there really was no escape from the question, Suzaku went with the only option he had – honesty. “I…think I prefer the one Your Highness played the other day, in the Imperial Palace,” he said, hesitantly, because regardless of right or wrong, a prince was still a prince and he was a subject inferior in standing. “It was…happier, I guess.”  
  
“Ah.” Schneizel looked thoughtful but said nothing as he rose to his feet and pulled down the lid over the keyboard. Suzaku waited anxiously – for what he wasn’t entirely sure – but the matter was never addressed again – and he was convinced then, that he _had_ said something wrong. But there was no reproach in his lord’s voice when he enquired about his day as they left the glass-walled building and once again played the perfect part of a prince and his trusted knight.  
  
Suzaku decided that this was better. It was normal and something normal was good, even if it was false. At least, he could live with it.  
  
“You have met Alaric,” Schneizel said when they walked along the open corridor leading back to the residence. “What do you think of him?”  
  
“Lord Vandewalle is a very impressive man,” he replied, carefully choosing his words with the presence of the two guards following them unobtrusively. “He would have made a great leader of the Camulos Knight.”  
  
“He would have,” the prince agreed but did not take his bait to pursue the subject further. Instead, he glanced at his knight and said, “You are aware of his opinions of you.”  
  
Suzaku felt the bitter smile which slipped in along the curve of his lips, and did nothing to chase it away. “They are not difficult to perceive,” he answered wryly.  
  
“Indeed, he does not endeavour to hide them,” his master only sounded, for some reasons, pleased. “They – he and the rest of the knights – seem to think that you should know of their sentiments toward this whole arrangement.”  
  
A part of him wanted to point out that their _sentiments_ couldn’t be any clearer than they were now, but the rest decided that it was just whining. “I’ve been wondering, Your Highness,” he said instead, keeping his voice indifferent, “General Bartley mentioned once that an exhibition match might help.”  
  
“An exhibition match?”  
  
“Yes. The general said that it would be a good place to start, especially with the Camulos Knight.”  
  
“Bartley did?” The prince arched two elegant golden eyebrows, now sounding genuinely amused. “Captivated him, haven’t you?”  
  
“Schneizel-sama–” Suzaku spluttered.  
  
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case,” his lord continued calmly, and the smile on his face made Suzaku flush even deeper. “And I agree, it is an excellent suggestion. Men and women of action can only be convinced by action. Let them see what you are capable of, and it is only a matter of time–”  
  
Suzaku felt his body move, even before he realised that he had heard a gunshot. It was near, near enough to be deadly, and the next thing he was already lying on top of the prince and there was a shadow over them. He whipped his head up and swallowed the sudden nausea at the sight before his eyes – the guards, both of them, standing before him and the prince, and the sharp sounds they were making as bullets pierced their flesh and grazed their bones.  
  
And then, from the corner of his eyes, he spotted a door, not three metres away.  
  
His decision was instantaneous. Suzaku pulled out his own shotgun and helped his master up. The next few seconds were a blur to him as they scrambled toward the door – the smell of blood, more gunfire, the choking gasps, the voice shouting in his head.  
  
He slammed the door shut once they were inside. It was a small maintenance room, with panels and colourful wires crowding one side of the wall and a tall metal compartment at another. There was no means of escape, he noticed with a sinking feeling, and then realised that he still had his body pressed against his master.  
  
“Schneizel-sama, are you–”  
  
“I’m fine,” the prince interrupted him and there was something in his voice that made Suzaku breathe again. He swallowed and nodded, gun still cocked and ready in the grip of his stiff fingers. The sounds from outside had ceased, leaving an eerie silence against the staccato of their rapid breathing. His mind worked quickly. The commotion would attract the other guards, which left the shooters with two options only: to flee or to press on. Suzaku had no problem with the first – as long as his lord was safe, he could take just about anything – but if it was the second, they would be sitting ducks once the shooters decided to waltz in.  
  
“I must take them down,” he whispered to Schneizel, his voice tight. There was no response for a long moment, and when he looked up, he almost flinched at the look his lord was giving him.  
  
“How many are they?” the older man finally asked.  
  
“Two,” Suzaku answered after a moment’s deliberation. “But there may be a third who hasn’t fired yet, behind the fourth pillar down the corridor. I’m not sure.”  
  
The prince’s eyes were dark, dangerous when he grasped his knight’s left arm in a firm, almost painful grip. “You will come back to me, is that understood?” he said, his voice low and sharp. A command, not a question.  
  
Suzaku ignored the slight tightening in his chest and nodded. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said, suppressing a shiver when the hand fell away from his arm.  
  
On the next second, he was already rushing outside.

  
 **_End_ **

 


	14. Hour of the Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only one king in Suzaku’s world and it isn’t Japan.

His job, Jacques decided, had been considerably more hazardous ever since Suzaku Kururugi had become a part of it.

It was not that he had a suicidal streak or liked to drag his soldiers through impossible fights – although Jacques certainly wouldn’t put both past him – but more due to the kind of situation he had repeatedly found himself in while dealing with the newly promoted brigadier general. Painfully uncomfortable situations. Which he would rather have nothing to do with since they posed him to all sorts of mortification and mental scars he could really live without.

On second thought, he would have enjoyed these situations – particularly the aftermath, in which he could spend days and days making Suzaku furiously blush at the merest hint of what he had witnessed – if only they didn’t have to involve the Second Prince. Here, a sensible part of his mind scoffed and told him that he was not giving the prince enough credit. Surely His Highness understood that he was only carrying out orders and had absolutely no intention of interrupting the two times he had discovered them engaged in this activity which required the full employment of mouth and tongue but curiously had only the most negligible, if any at all, relationship with the customary art of speaking.

But one never knew. A prince was a prince and he had all the power in the world to haul your ass to god-knows-where – Siberia was definitely not outside the realm of possibility, or perhaps even the moon, if His Highness was so inclined. Jacques enjoyed befriending risks every now and then, even sought after them from time to time to satiate his thirst for adventures and excitement of a more straightforward kind. This was also the basis of his current career choice, but the sort of _risk_ he was facing now was not about dying in a battlefield full of glory and honour and other wonderful things. It mainly made him want to hide in a very dark, very remote corner and become perfectly invisible from the eye of the world for weeks, or maybe even months if the embarrassment took that long to wear off. Jacques, being a sensible man who knew the difference between courage and utter stupidity, preferred not to put himself through any mortal torment of that kind.

He would have chosen to stay at the safe perimeter this time too, except that his position didn’t exactly allow him to do that. In an institution like the Britannian military, unless there was a very good reason – which sadly was not in his possession at the moment – going against any order from the higher-ups meant hello discharge, it’s so nice to meet you.

The prince’s secretary, he decided, was entirely to blame for his predicament. She had contacted him earlier this evening and asked, in a voice which left no room for argument, let alone escape, if he would be so kind to deliver several important documents to Lord Kururugi. They needed his signature and this was terribly urgent, so _thank you so much for your help_.

And so the glorified courier was sent on his merry way to the Governor-General’s villa where Suzaku was presumably having dinner with the prince – and hopefully, very hopefully, not much more than that. Interrupting a meal might still be pardonable, all things considered. Interrupting other things, he was less sure.

The guards at the gate had informed him, once he had stated the purpose of his visit, that Lord Kururugi was still in the music chamber with the prince. One of them had promptly offered to show him the way and Jacques was now following him with no little trepidation through a maze of halls, and then down to the garden which was now encased in the falling darkness. The music chamber sounded like a place where many things could happen, including those which had no relation at all to the first part of its respectable title. Kissing was bad enough as it was. He really didn’t need too see anything involving a grand piano and one body on top of it and clothes littered on the leather-covered seat…

It was during this line of thinking, that he heard the gunshot.

Once. Twice. And then several quick consecutive shots which sent him running toward the direction of the commotion, behind the guard who had rushed ahead in alarm. His ears registered shouting, and many running footsteps as more guards abandoned their post in the face of a potential threat. But Jacques didn’t hear them. The shooting had stopped, and the only reason he could think about was the shooters had achieved whatever objective they came for.

When they arrived on the scene, it was to the sight of three bodies lying motionless on the tiled floor and Suzaku standing in the middle of it all, tight-lipped but unscathed except for a trickle of blood from the small tear on his right cheek. Jacques sighed in relief and the younger man looked up, eyes strange, almost dead in the pale, muted light as if he was looking at no one but an empty corridor. It splashed some cold uneasiness in the flood of his relief and Jacques looked away, finding his excuse in examining the bodies.

The first thing he noticed was the splatters of blood on their clothes, a poor travesty of the Imperial Guard’s formal uniform.

The second thing he noticed, only a split of a second later, was the colour of their skin.

\-----

The opaque glass door slid open and Claire hissed at a pair of soldiers who bumped into her as the force of the collision made her reel back a few paces. One of them had started cursing loudly, drawing attention from everyone around them with his interesting choice of language, before he remembered to look up and see who he had just bumped into. His face went pale as recognition quickly clamped his mouth shut. Claire returned it with a withering glare. She would love to give the soldier a severe tongue-lashing if her mind wasn’t already too occupied with something else.

Inside the building was pandemonium. There were only a few reasons why a military headquarter would fall into such state of disorder. War was at the topmost of the very short list, and while she was reasonably grateful that there wasn’t any active confrontation in this part of the empire at the moment, an attempt on the life of a prince was no less appalling. A very close attempt too, if the account she had heard so far was right.

“Claire!”

She stopped and looked around for the source of the voice. Jacques had just appeared from the elevator and now was shouldering his way through the crowd, tension evident in his stormy face. She didn’t bother to wait until he was close enough before bombarding him with questions.

“This is true? An assassination attempt?”

“You better believe it,” his response was only a little more than a growl. Some of the other soldiers had slowed down their pace, intent on listening in, and Claire had to fix them another of her infamous glares to get them moving again.

“But how could anyone possibly sneak into the villa and–” she couldn’t finish her sentence and only waved her hands in disbelief.

“I was there,” Jacques told her flatly. “Heard the gunshots and everything, but when I arrived it was already over.”

“And His Highness?”

“Is unharmed,” he answered without a moment’s pause. “And so is Suzaku in that matter. Just a little scratch on his cheek. You’d think he’d end up much worse, considering the circumstances.”

“I’ve stopped being surprised at anything concerning him a long time ago,” she said dryly. “Where is he?”

Jacques’s face darkened and instead of answering, he caught her by the elbow and dragged her toward the east wing of the building. “Come with me. There’s something... you’ll see.”

Claire followed him without protest – her friend was using that tone of voice which told her that he was dead serious. She fell into step next to him, only having the slightest difficulty to keep up with his bigger and longer strides.

“I heard there were three shooters,” she said again, still trying to get more information from the other officer.

“Yes,” he replied without looking at her. “Two committed suicide, but Suzaku knocked out the last one before he could do the same.” Jacques paused, and then added in a lower voice, “They’re all Elevens.”

Claire couldn’t say that she was surprised, no matter how disconcerting the news was. “It was to be expected, wasn’t it?” she said wryly. “We’re in Japan after all.”

Jacques frowned. “I don’t think it’s really as simple as that,” he muttered.

No, she silently agreed. An independent terrorist group would never have been able to gain access into the Governor-General’s villa without any inside help, or hatch a plan which required details and classified knowledge of this level. There were still too many unknown factors in this case, and she knew it was just the tip of the iceberg.

“What about the man who didn’t get to kill himself?” she asked again. “Is he being interrogated?”

“The person in charge of the security, a Major Hershkin, is taking care of it,” Jacques told her. “No luck so far, but I was talking to Suzaku earlier and he said he was going down there himself.”

It made Claire completely stop in her tracks. “He’s going to take over the interrogation?” she said in surprise.

Jacques’s mouth was a thin, grim line when he turned around and looked at her. “He outranks Hershkin, that’s one thing for sure,” he said point-blank. “Come on, we need to get there before he does.”

She quickly caught up with him once more as they made a turn into a deserted corridor. “You didn’t try to talk some sense into him?”

“He had killed the line before I could say ‘but’,” her friend answered dryly. The wrinkles of frown on his forehead were now more pronounced. “I really don’t like the tone of his voice. We all know Mr. Shooter won’t talk that easily. He was ready to commit suicide when their attempt failed. This is something else.”

Claire didn’t answer and they fell silent as they went down a flight of stairs, and then into another long, empty corridor. She didn’t like it down here; everything was as dead as silence except for the sinister echo of their footsteps. The walls were painted in the sort of unnatural, spotless white that choked the breath out of her, which she knew was exactly the effect they were trying to aim while dealing with their interrogees.

At the end of the corridor were two doors, situated at opposing walls. They went through the one on their left, into a murky passage which led them to another door. Standing in front of it were four soldiers, two guarding on full alert at each side of the door. One of the remaining two was a flaxen-haired man – square-faced, shorter than Jacques but with a heavier built – who had been pacing restlessly about the room. He abruptly stopped at their entrance and straightened his posture.

Jacques approached him right away. “Major Hershkin?”

“Yes,” he answered, wariness shading his firm but tired voice. Claire felt a flash of sympathy toward the man. She doubted there was anyone in this building – or in the whole empire, for that matter – who had a shittier day than he did, after the assassination attempt.

“Lieutenant Colonel Sedgwick,” Jacques introduced himself. “Is Lord Kururugi inside?”

“Yes, but you can’t go in, Sir,” the major said quickly. “Nobody is allowed entry. Lord Kururugi has specifically prohibited anyone to come inside until he is finished with the interrogation.”

Claire felt a sudden increase of panic inside her and knew that her friend experienced something similar. “This is very important,” Jacques said again, this time accompanied with a little frown to emphasise his point.

The major was adamant. “I’m sorry but I really can’t allow you, Sir. It is a direct order from a superior officer.”

For a moment, Jacques looked like he was about to beat his way in, and Claire, her own patience rapidly shrinking, suddenly heard herself saying, “We bring a message from His Highness the prince.”

Hershkin looked doubtfully at her. “From His Highness?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly, ignoring the astonished look Jacques was giving her. “A message from the prince to his personal knight is of a higher priority, isn’t it?”

The major still looked doubtful, but finally moved aside despite his obvious reluctance. “If that is the case, I’m sure Lord Kururugi will understand,” he murmured in an abject tone. Claire felt that flash of pity again; the man was just afraid of making more mistakes than he already had. She really couldn’t blame him.

“You bring a message from the prince?” Jacques asked her in a low voice once they were already inside and the door had been shut behind them, eyebrows arched high.

“Obviously I lied, idiot,” she muttered and ignored his soft chuckle, choosing to focus on the pale semi-darkness around them. There was a glass window giving a clear view into the interrogation room, encased in bright, almost blinding white light. Her mouth went dry when she saw what was happening inside.

She had expected to see Suzaku interrogating the prisoner. She had not, however, expected to see him using this manner of interrogation at all. Other people perhaps, but not Suzaku, and yet the proof was only too clear there in front of her eyes. The man was on the floor, tied to a toppled chair, blood trickling from his nose and one corner of his lips. His chest was heaving violently, but his eyes, sharp and narrowed on his bruised face, were fixed on his interrogator.

Suzaku’s face was frozen in stony indifference and his white gloves had smudges of blood on them. Claire discovered that she couldn’t breathe, and for some reasons, she and Jacques just stood there and watched as Suzaku stooped to pick the chair back up to its correct position. The prisoner laughed unpleasantly, the sound rough, heavy with clotted blood, and started speaking in Japanese. Suzaku cut him off and Claire could only listen, in a sort of horrified trance as they went back and forth, the man’s harsh, contemptuous snarls and Suzaku’s stilted, hissing voice.

He was laughing again, but this time the sound was cut short with a straight punch to his stomach. Jacques flinched next to her and she knew exactly how he felt. This was not the Suzaku they knew, this soldier who was now grasping the stained collar of their prisoner and spoke in a low, threatening voice. The man grinned – and the effect of this action to his distorted face was hideous – and spat on his face. There was a strained pause. The prisoner was still sneering and Suzaku delivered another blow to his gut, leaving him to scream and curse and cough up more blood.

It was then when Claire felt her friend abruptly left her side and scurried toward the door into the interrogation room. He flung it open violently, causing the two inside to freeze and look at the intruder.

“Sir,” Jacques addressed their superior officer, his face wooden and expressionless. Frozen outside, all Claire could think of was how calm his voice sounded still, despite everything. “Prince Schneizel asks for your presence immediately.”

The words – or perhaps the name – seemed to trickle _something_ into Suzaku and shake him out of his livid state. He let the prisoner go, but when he turned around and looked at Jacques, there was something in his expression which made Claire certain that it would plunge from bad to worse. She moved away from the glass, ready to intervene, but the moment had passed quickly before it could manifest itself. Suzaku gave Jacques a small nod and accepted the handkerchief offered to him.

“You’re just a traitor! A whore!”

He stiffened at the insult – there was no doubt as to the reason of this sudden change of language. Face darkening, Jacques approached the bound man and backhanded him on the face, and then steered Suzaku out of the room before he could say anything.

“His Highness is waiting for you,” he said above the prisoner’s incessant moaning and cursing. Claire had enough presence of mind to turn off the audio feed before Jacques opened the door and allowed everyone outside to hear what they didn’t want anyone else to hear. She stood close to the glass window, blocking anybody’s way or line of vision into the interrogation chamber, sometimes glancing at their captive who was now lying quite still on the white tiled floor.

When Suzaku had left with Major Hershkin, Jacques slipped back in and carefully closed the door behind him. “Well, that’s taken care of,” he said with a loud sigh.

“You were lying, weren’t you?” she asked him point-blank.

“Anything to get him out of the room,” he muttered. His gaze strayed toward their battered and bloodied prisoner and a settled over his face. “I’ll take care of this but–”

“Go,” she told him and nodded toward the door. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’ll deal with everything here.”

There was a moment of silence in which Jacques gave her a silent, doubtful look. It didn’t take Claire long to decipher what it meant. “If you’re going to say anything about my being a woman, I’m beating the crap out of you,” she threatened in a low voice.

Despite their tense situation, he grinned. “What I was about to say is don’t kill him. You’re prone to giving in to fits of temper.”

“Get out,” she growled.

“Make sure there’s no irreparable damage or we’ll be held responsible–”

Claire pushed him out and slammed the door on his face.

\-----

“But Your Highness, with what just happened, it may not be wise to–”

“It doesn’t matter,” the prince interrupted the flow of words from his secretary’s mouth, but didn’t spare her a glance from the document he was signing. “The ceremony will proceed as scheduled tomorrow. There is no reason why it should not.”

Miss Romeyer pursed her lips in evident dissatisfaction. “With all due respect, Your Highness,” she spoke again, more firmly this time, “it was an assassination attempt. It was foiled, yes, but without doubt they will try again and such a major event like tomorrow’s ceremony provides a convenient chance, particularly if today’s attempt is meant as a red herring. And since the state of our current security is quite lamentable,” she threw a disdainful look at Major Hershkin who was standing stiffly next to her, white-faced and quite obviously petrified with fear, “I very strongly advise reconsideration before it is too late.”

“We have just arrived, it is understandable if a few things are not quite in order yet,” the prince replied evenly. When he looked up, however, Suzaku caught the slight trace of impatience on his countenance. “And a foiled attempt is a foiled attempt, Miss Romeyer. That I am now still alive is the difference.”

“But, Your Highness, we have yet to discover who is responsible for the attempt and what their motives are,” she persisted. “And without this particular knowledge in our hand, it is exceedingly dangerous to proceed with anything so recklessly.”

Standing correctly at his lord’s side but with a steadily crumbling resolve, Suzaku quenched an urge to bury his head in the fold of his arms. He just wished for this meeting to be over. An hour ago, he had been sure that Jacques had only tried to lure him out of the interrogation room and yet, despite his suspicion, the prince had beckoned him to come in and join the meeting when he and Major Hershkin had arrived.

The hour had since then progressed as the most gruelling discussion he had ever taken part in, especially with the invaluable help of Miss Romeyer’s relentless harping. Lord Vandewalle had scarcely said a word since his arrival and Hershkin was clearly much too terrified to contribute anything into the conversation, limiting himself to the shortest answers possible whenever addressed. The only comfort Suzaku could take during the agonizing hour was in his master’s smooth, undulating tenor, and how it always calmed him down a little, with every subtle change of inflection, every spoken syllable.

His prince was alive – and the thought made him shiver at every intake of breath.

“Your concern is duly noted, Miss Romeyer,” Schneizel replied, still a picture of calmness save for a hint of sharpness in his voice. “An investigation will of course be conducted. You can rest assured that my knight will look into this matter as thoroughly as possible.”

Her cheeks coloured slightly at this rebuke and for a moment, it seemed like she would argue further if only to defend her pride. Thankfully, a particular look from the prince quickly discouraged any real execution of such scheme.

“In any case, we should get the ceremony done and over with, especially if their objective is to prevent it,” he spoke again and there was certain finality in his voice which rendered the subject closed. Miss Romeyer pursed her lips again but said nothing as the prince shifted his gaze toward Lord Vandewalle. “Alaric, I will have some of the Camulos Knight to stand on guard in their Knightmare tomorrow. We will not risk any chance. And as for the representative of the knight in the ceremony, you alone will suffice.”

A stony nod and a quiet bow. “Yes, my lord.”

“That is all for now. You are all dismissed.”

Suzaku hesitated for a moment, something very close to possessiveness, only far more vulnerable, weighing down his feet and heart at the thought of leaving, but he quickly realised that he had no reason to stay. Besides, there was still the interrogation to take care of.

And he didn’t know what he would do – what he wouldn’t be able to stop himself do – if…

“Suzaku.”

He turned around, so quickly that he almost lost his balance. Schneizel had risen to his feet, but he waited until Major Hershkin had closed the door and left them alone in the office before beginning to speak again.

“I have yet to thank you.”

“It was my duty, Your Highness.” Even to his ears his voice sounded strange. Suzaku swallowed, thoughts rippling dangerously on the surface of his mind as the older man approached him. This was dangerous, a panicked voice told him urgently, and he knew it was right and he wanted to run away – must run away – before everything was too late.

But it was too late. He almost flinched away when his left hand was taken, now cradled between gloved, longer fingers, pristine white in contrast with his bloodied ones.

“Are you injured?” the prince asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“No, Your Highness,” Suzaku answered quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. “This isn’t my blood. I was–”

…beating their prisoner until he bruised and bled. Suzaku blinked, words vanishing just as quickly, but the blood didn’t disappear and he was still the person who abused a bound, helpless man and didn’t care about it. The memory made him feel sick; the things he had just done, to a man who shared his motherland – and yet threatened his prince’s life – who perhaps only wanted to see Japan liberated like he did – and yet threatened his prince’s life – who fought bravely, ready to throw his life away if needs be – _and yet threatened his prince’s life, his prince, his prince, his prince._

_His prince._

It seemed to be the only justification he could find for his actions – and it seemed to be the only justification he needed.

“It may be your duty, but it is no small matter for me,” Schneizel said again, fingers now a gentle touch on his left cheek. Suzaku stared at him, and wanted to cry if the desire to laugh wasn’t just as overwhelming. There was no question of small or big for him. Not in this. The only thing he had known back then in the interrogation chamber, the only thing he knew now, was that he had to protect this man who had come to matter so much to him that Suzaku knew he would die if he failed.

“What I meant is Your Highness does not need to thank me,” he managed the reply, but couldn’t do anything about the little tremors that came with it. He was barely able to think, let alone bother with things like modulating the tone of his voice.

But then his master smiled and that was it. His eyes snapped shut, quietly, almost involuntarily, when Schneizel kissed him, slow, long swipes that made him moan just at the feel of it. He fisted his hands into rigid balls at his side, everything he could do not to throw his arms around the older man’s body – only to feel, to convince himself that this was the one thing he hadn’t done wrong and he hadn’t failed to protect this time. But he must not, or he would risk Schneizel finding out what a mess he actually was right now.

And he couldn’t have that. He was a knight first and foremost, not a lover.

“I shall see you tomorrow at the ceremony,” the prince said once he had ended the kiss and Suzaku immediately recognised it as dismissal. He bowed and excused himself from the room without a word, only too aware that he was still breathing heavily. It was not until he had put a reasonable distance between him and the office that he allowed himself to feel the tremor in his hands, coursing through the rest of his body like poison. There was no one around and it was in this luxury that he wrapped an arm around himself, one hand covering his mouth because the tingles on his lips were still too much of a reminder. The scent of blood was to strong, on his fingers, hand, everywhere.

This was exactly why falling in love with the prince he was supposed to protect was an incredibly stupid thing to do – and not to mention, dangerous. Putting his life on the line was one thing, but this was different; this was death, brushing too close to a person he would go and freeze hell for and Suzaku didn’t know what, why, how he should deal with it, the realisation of the actual extent he _would_ go for his master. The things he could bring himself to do.

“Suzaku.”

He whipped his head up at the familiar voice and, through eyes that misted and burned, saw Jacques walking toward him. Breathing shakily, he looked away but knew that there was nothing he could do about the tears in his eyes – and his friend had seen them anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Jacques asked tentatively but kept himself at an arm’s length, clearly unsure of his footing in this situation he had stumbled into.

“Nothing,” Suzaku answered quietly, shoving everything but the lie back in. His gaze slid past the other man’s shoulder, mainly because he didn't want to know what kind of expression his friend was wearing. “You were looking for me?”

Jacques hesitated. “I really don’t want to be the one who says this to you,” he muttered.

There was a moment of stiff silence, spanning across the distance between them like a rope drawn too taut. Suzaku returned his gaze to the other man, fixing him a blank look. “Is this about earlier?”

The uneasiness became more palpable on his face as Jacques seemed to struggle with words and silence. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he said at last, his voice heavy with reluctance.

Suzaku fought against an urge to roll his eyes. “Back then in the academy,” he said flatly, “we were taught how to interrogate and how to endure interrogation. It is a method to gain information, and it is something that we do.” He paused, swallowing the bile which was rising in his throat, the memory of pounding head and stomach aching from one too many kick the Britannians had seen fit to give him. “He must tell me the truth. I need to know.”

“What I meant is _you_ shouldn’t do that,” Jacques replied, his eyes sharp on him. “Of course we’ll interrogate him. Of course we’ll beat him up if he doesn’t give us the information we need. But he’s Japanese and so are you, honorary Britannian or not. This can get ugly if we don’t proceed carefully.”

Suzaku let his gaze harden, even though he knew that the other man was right. “He isn’t telling us anything.”

“He hasn’t,” Jacques corrected. “I guarantee you that he will, but you’re the wrong person for the job. He hates you, he thinks you’re a traitor, and anger fuels him. There is nothing worse than that kind of stubbornness. And in case you've forgotten, there’s also the precariousness of your position to consider.”

The hand which rested on his shoulder was meant to be comforting, but it took him everything not to flinch away. “Leave it to us,” Jacques told him. “He’ll crack down in due time, but you stay away from this.”

Suzaku nodded numbly, avoiding his friend’s eyes. He knew what his obligations were, what he must do, but he couldn’t shake off the thought that he had become one of those he hated the most. It was all wrong. Love, loyalty shouldn’t turn one into a monster.

And yet it had.

**_End_ **


	15. The Right to Bleed

Servants, as Schneizel had discovered many years ago, had their degrees of usefulness, but there was possibly none more valuable to him – bar Suzaku, naturally – than his faithful manservant.

It was at breakfast, exactly one week after the shooting incident, that Klaus, as he served the prince and conveyed his daily report of recent news and rumours prevalent in the city as was customary every morning, decided to digress from the growing discontent in parts of Area 11 and venture into domestic news.

“Perhaps Your Highness would be interested to know,” he said in his usual low voice which never varied in tones, “that a particular situation concerning Lord Kururugi has arisen during the past week.”

The prince finished a sip from his cup of coffee and then looked at his manservant with raised eyebrows. “A situation?”

There was a small, delicate cough before Klaus proceeded with his account. “It appears that Lord Kururugi has developed a – if I may be so bold to say – possibly detrimental habit of abstaining himself from sleep at night.”

“Did he?” Schneizel murmured to himself, speculations starting to take shape in his mind. “And how did you acquaint yourself with this information?”

“A few of the guards stationed in front of Your Highness’s bedroom have apparently taken liberty to converse about the matter amongst themselves.” There was the faintest shade of disapproval in his valet’s voice, but the hand which moved to refill his cup remained entirely unaffected. “It seems that this new routine Lord Kururugi has taken into practice is causing a degree of concern among them.”

It would have been, Schneizel reflected wryly. Suzaku did not understand reserve when he endeavoured to do something, and the prince very much doubted that the unpleasant repercussions of many sleepless nights could ever daunt him into appreciating one. Delicacy would forever be a lost art to his knight.

“In the past week, you said?” he asked the other man.

“Yes, Sir.”

Schneizel resisted the beginning of a dry smile. “I assume he has taken a fancy to ensure the security of my chamber during the most unusual hours,” he made his guess, his matter-of-fact voice echoing in the otherwise silent parlour.

The stony, angular face remained inexpressive. “Indeed, Sir, it appears to be the case.”

Yesternight would have made seven in total. It had certainly gone on long enough.

\-----

That night, he left instructions to the guards to admit Lord Kururugi when ever he appeared – as he was clearly wont to do like former nights – and then settled himself in his bedroom to plough his way slowly through reports and documents which had accumulated in the last few days while he had focused his attention in restoring order among his staff and officers.

Hectic was a dramatic word, but it was still much too mild to describe the various reactions which had swiftly arisen once the news about the murder attempt had spread out. Horror and concern about the condition of their security were to be expected, but to a higher extent, fear and anger were more prevalent. Two guards had died protecting him and it was two more than anyone could accept. To complicate the situation further, one of them was an honorary Britannian, which not only stirred uneasiness amongst others in a similar situation, but also bred suspicion in the ranks of his officers.

He knew it would not end there. And now there was Suzaku – who brought it to a whole new level.

Schneizel was no stranger to assassination attempts. They were a part of his life as a prince in a court like that of his father’s. He had lived with this darker side of palatial intrigues his entire life – from relatives who saw a growing threat in him and uncles who had their greedy eyes fixed on his father’s throne, to siblings and cousins who had allowed jealousy and ambitions to rule the better part of them. The apprehension might be there, flimsy ghosts of the paralysing fear in his younger days, but it would feel far and subdued, mitigated by experience as the number of similar attempts grew with years. Now he could see and simply dismiss it with an indifferent eye, the way he treated almost everything else.

His knight, unfortunately, was far less experienced in this field. Suzaku had no qualms with sacrificing his own life, but to protect another’s – _his_ life in particular – was an entirely different case. Schneizel knew better than to take everything at face value and pretend that his knight was not at all affected by the incident. Suzaku had never been a good actor to begin with and his reaction, as much as he tried to hide it, was a little bit too much for his meagre acting skill.

Which made the prince wonder if things had not, in fact, gotten slightly out of hand. With Suzaku, it was always a little quicker, a little harder, a little more personal, a little off the mark. For someone who was nothing but predictable in term of character, his knight had a tendency to catch him by surprise at the most inopportune moments.

He was halfway through the first stack of reports when a polite knock came to his door. Suzaku entered a moment later, still attired in his knight uniform.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” he said tentatively, a guarded, slightly lost expression rippling on his face. “I was told outside that my presence was expected?”

“Yes,” Schneizel nodded and motioned for him to approach the sofa he was sitting on. Suzaku did so gingerly, the tension much too evident in his step and posture, as if he was expecting a scolding or a punishment – which would not be too far from the truth, the prince mused. “I heard you liked to make many nightly visits to my door,” he remarked slowly, just a small glint of the blade.

The tiny ‘oh’ which slipped out of Suzaku’s lips was admission enough, but the blush stealing over his features was certainly more than a pleasant complement. Schneizel found himself resisting a smile.

“May I ask why?” he asked, knowing full well that his casual tone was affecting his knight in a manner which was far from casual. Suzaku lowered his gaze, using his embarrassment as usual to stall time and arrange his reply.

“My only intention is to check that everything is as it should be, Your Highness,” he answered after the deliberate pause, polite words awkwardly strung together. Schneizel put away the agricultural report he had been reading and gave his knight a bland look.

“You know very well that you cannot afford to fall ill during this precarious time, do you not?”

“Yes.” Suzaku’s voice was uneasy and he fidgeted a little.

“And yet you did it all the same.”

“Only as a precaution, my lord,” he answered, rather too quickly. “Particularly after the incident last week, it is imperative to make sure that any kind of slip in our security will not occur again in the future.”

“And of course it requires you to do an inspection to my room at least once every hour for seven consecutive nights,” Schneizel said evenly, as if he was not simply using the finer edge of reproach to carve the same wound.

Suzaku’s face gained a faint shade of pink, but his voice was still firm – if not insolent – when he replied, “In matters of security, too much is better than too little, Sir.”

“You are not the one responsible for security,” the prince remarked, eyebrows raised.

The look which his knight promptly gave him was almost rebellious. “Yes, I am.”

“Hershkin is.”

“But I am responsible for Your Highness’s safety,” he persisted, and his entire demeanour suddenly became wrought up and stiff, not unlike that of an animal when it was faced with a threat over its territory.

Schneizel allowed a frown to crease his brow, a more tangible proof of his displeasure. “It is greedy and arrogant to think that you can do everything by yourself,” he said, each word accentuated slowly to deliver a greater impact. He observed, indifferent, as they achieved their desired result, painting a different, colder shade of red on Suzaku’s face than simple embarrassment had earlier.

“I...I’ve never really considered it that way,” he finally admitted, his voice strangled by threads of emotions. The prince only looked at him. He could have been merciful and respond with a few words – not even necessarily soothing, simply _words_ – but he opted to let the silence thrive. It made the knife sink deeper, the flesh tore wider, but he knew his knight could handle it. Suzaku was good with pain – more often that not, it served to make him feel better instead.

“I apologise, Your Highness,” he said at long last, head bowed in defeat.

“And?”

A hint of defiance flickered on his face, but the taste of fresh pain quelled it in time. “It will not happen again,” he murmured, just loud enough for his master to hear.

“Good,” the prince curved his lips, a smile but not quite. “I have no use for a knight who is incapable of taking care of himself.”

Suzaku’s eyes widened and the flash of raw fear in them was so palpable for even the blindest to see. “I shall not disappoint again, Sir,” he said hastily, his body leaning forward slightly in a pleading gesture, consciously done or not. Either way, it presented the prince with a perfect incentive to take his wrist and pull him, literally, onto the sofa.

“Your Highness, what–”

“You are quite a handful one, aren’t you?” he intoned, amusement easily finding its way into his voice as Suzaku struggled to position his legs in a less awkward manner on the cushioned seat.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably, colour once more rising to his cheeks. His hands dropped uncertainly to his side once he had surrendered to the fact that he was sitting on his master’s lap and there was not much he could do about it. Schneizel found himself smiling very slightly.

“Are you?” he murmured, almost to himself, and pulled his knight down to capture his lips in a kiss. He easily swallowed the small sound of surprise elicited by the throat under his fingers but allowed the younger man to set the pace, angling his head in such a way that he could savour the wordless intensity threading tense muscles and warm lips as the chaste kiss rapidly declined into something else. His hand followed a line down Suzaku’s spine to squeeze one plump buttock, and he could feel the shiver it caused, manifesting into a small moan that hummed in his mouth.

It didn’t take long for Suzaku to undress himself, the rhythm of his breathing tumbling into shambles as layers of clothes were shed off his body. And then he was kissing his master again, as passionately as before if not more, and this unexpected display of impatience would have made the prince frown – along with the tantalising warmth spread across his lap, the arms tightly wound around his neck – if not for the fact that he knew exactly whose fault this was. After all, one could not always turn a blind eye on one’s own doing.

“This is a dangerous game you play,” he said, releasing the younger man’s lips – and could not help but notice the deep colour which had bloomed on them.

Suzaku’s eyes darkened. “I am not playing, Your Highness,” he whispered, his voice deeper, rougher than it had been moments ago.

 _That is why it is dangerous,_ the prince would have said, but Suzaku pressed his lips on his left ear, murmuring pleas very softly, his body tight with desire. Then again, it might not matter much at this point. They both knew exactly how dangerous it was.

It was still a surreal realisation nonetheless, as he claimed his knight and felt him shudder in his arms, love tightly entwined with desperation all too transparent in those green eyes, and noticed that the uneasiness which had lurked under his skin and echoed in the deep for quite some time was reminding him a little of fear. Fear, perhaps, that Suzaku had given away too much.

Perhaps.

It was fortunate that he was now a stranger to it.

\-----  
  
When the sun rose, it bathed his sheltered room in a pale glow of muted blue, darker than the colour of victory, and yet brighter than the night sky which the stars had forever conquered. It crept along the shadows on his walls, at first meek, and then slowly converting them to shapes and colours.  
  
He sat on his bed in the stirring dawn, his mind crowded by a thousand things, too many unripe plans and half-formed voices that whispered hints of the future to him, painting sketches of an era yet to come. They were never silent, always restless like a discontented lover, but he had long since grown used to them – and known how to keep them to himself, away from everybody’s prying eyes. But during this hour of the morning, he could let them approach him, these voices and plans, and he would sift through each and every one in the cocoon of silence, scribble notes on the nearest piece of paper available, and make sure that he would remember the greater ones.  
  
It was a privilege, a great opportunity to rule above others and feel power of such extent in the grasp of his two hands. Many would kill for a taste of it, while others recoiled and the rest turned their head away either in dread or ignorance. Not many, however, realised that with the privilege came the obligation. The responsibility, the number of hours one must spend learning and studying – for a king must never allow himself to be blinded, by comfort, confidence, or power.  
  
It painted a pretty irony, almost, if he thought about it. Trust – absolute, blind trust, that was – was the only luxury a true king could never indulge himself in, unless he wished to play the fool’s part. Trust belonged to the faithful subjects, along with the sense of security it invariably brought as a return for their service.  
  
Like his knight.  
  
His gaze wandered to the younger man, still engulfed in a deep sleep at his side. After many nights of little rest, now he slept like the dead – in _his_ bedroom.  
  
Surprising how the best solutions often were also the simplest in the list.  
  
The prince let his gaze linger, a second, two seconds, and then three as moves and plots of white-black pawns were mapped out in his mind. He had between his fingers a powerful piece. Just how powerful, however, he was still unsure – and this, could be his Trojan horse.  
  
And yet, he decided, a subdued smile on his lips, it would not stop him from using the piece.  
  
\-----  
  
Naturally not everyone was pleased with Suzaku’s choice of residence – and even less once they had gotten wind of the rumours running rampant among the ranks of servants. It was curious, as they often talked between giggles and knowing smiles, even disapproving looks, that there were mornings when the maids would find Lord Kururugi’s room to be neat and quite obviously unused.  
  
The rumour was, of course, nothing new. It was the fact that Suzaku had opted to keep his room in the governor-general’s villa which brought the trivial talk to prominence. Miss Romeyer, ever so vocal with her opinions and sentiments, took three whole days to proclaim the entire length of her scandalised disapproval before the prince finally put an end to it with a few stern words.  
  
Despite how it might seem to everyone else, Suzaku clearly preferred it this way, to be spending his nights as close as possible to his master’s chamber – if not _inside_ the chamber itself. The assassination attempt had made his decision quite easy, and yet he was still vacillating between doubts days after.  
  
“I’m not sure if it isn’t too much trouble,” his knight decided to approach the subject one night, when the world once more had been safely shut outside white walls and red velvet curtain. “With all the risks and possible repercussions, it doesn’t seem worth it.”  
  
Schneizel lowered the book he was reading – _The Art of War_ , for the hundredth time or so – and glanced at his side. Suzaku was lying prone on his side of the bed, his head propped on the fold of his arms, tilted slightly to provide him with the necessary angle to look at his master from the corner of his eyes.  
  
“I have no earthly idea what you are speaking of,” he said, eyebrows raised.  
  
“This, I mean, my presence here,” Suzaku looked down as if to emphasise his point, face drawn in anxiety. His new silk pajamas made a quiet rustle as he tried to settle himself more comfortably between the sheets and blankets. It reminded the prince fondly of the order he had given to his valet only a few days ago – _it must be green, pale, forest green, softer than his eyes._  
  
“What of it?” he asked, feigning complete ignorance.  
  
“It’s just that I… I’ve heard things,” Suzaku admitted uncomfortably. “And they made me think. My decision to live here seems to cause great problems and it’s, I mean, in return of something that doesn’t amount to anything but a little peace of mind.”  
  
A pregnant pause followed as Schneizel took the chance to evaluate if the younger man was looking for encouragement or it was merely an articulation of doubt. But since it was Suzaku, there was a fair chance that it could be both.  
  
“It causes quite a lot of troubles, yes,” he replied mildly, and waited until an expression of dismay had made its presence known clearly on his knight’s face before adding, “but even the best choices have their drawbacks.”  
  
The uncertain relief that slowly took over Suzaku’s features was a heart-warming sight. “Your Highness does think so?” he inquired softly.  
  
Schneizel found himself smiling, confronted with the fact that he had become rather accustomed to this particular tone of voice from his knight – this quiet lilt which softened the awkward edges of his voice, the one he only used behind bedroom’s doors. It was rather becoming, in a way.  
  
“Do you really care that much of what I think?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” was the younger man’s spontaneous answer, unaffected, with a hint of surprise that the issue was even questioned in the first place.  
  
“Not what everyone think?”  
  
“Ah,” Suzaku paused, realisation dawning, along with a shade of guilt, “that too, yes.”  
  
“It is only natural,” the prince said placidly, “but do not worry about it. Affairs are not uncommon for one in my station. In fact, they are somewhat expected – to a certain degree.”  
  
“Even if it involves someone like me?”  
  
This roused a different kind of amusement in him, a little stronger – and perhaps, also more genuine. “Someone like you as in an honorary Britannian,” he said, tapping the side of his knight’s nose lightly, “or as in a boy?”  
  
Suzaku lowered his eyes, cheeks reddening slightly. “Both, I suppose,” he mumbled his reply.  
  
“As long as I give them no valid reason to question my ability to beget a proper, legitimate heir, I doubt it will escalate to anything more than an amusing subject to liven up tea parties,” Schneizel replied, lips curving slightly in a wry smile. “There is an irony in the fact that one without the customary rumours and scandals surrounding him is liable to suspicion that he hides an even worse defect.”  
  
“Like he’s a serial killer, maybe?” Suzaku ventured a guess, a faint smile brightening his visage.  
  
“It could be an example,” the prince agreed, “although there is no earthly way to tell that those with the customary defects do not possess the worse either. But humans, as society becomes more and more educated, have learned to rely on the law of balance. Perfection often breeds mistrust, even fear, because we have come to expect certain shortcomings in everyone.”  
  
Suzaku was silent for a moment, a pensive expression on his face. “Then,” he murmured, uncertainly raising his gaze to his master, “is this particular ‘defect’ one of Your Highness’s, ah, masks?”  
  
A pause. A long look. It was not until his knight’s flush had deepened that Schneizel decided to show compassion and reply. “What do you think?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Suzaku answered, honestly if a bit awkwardly. “I’m not objective enough to tell.”  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
“Maybe because sometimes what I wish…” he swallowed, words completely failing him for a moment that it was only sheer stubbornness which kept him going. “I mean, my wish does not necessarily go hand-in-hand with the truth, and sometimes it’s hard to see which is which when they don’t.”  
  
Schneizel allowed a smile to soften his expression. “But don’t you think the truth may be able to change, especially in this sort of matter?”  
  
He felt Suzaku stiffen, noticed the sudden defensiveness which leapt to life in his eyes, a wall, a barrier against the crashing waves of hope which had too often torn him apart. For the prince, it was pleasing in a way, comforting even, to know that he was the one who caused it. Sometimes he pondered on the possible dangers – the way his knight looked at him, and the fact that it caused a tingle of pleasure to pulse in his veins – but always he would find confidence to dismiss them as doubts, ghosts that no one could fully be free of.  
  
“Tomorrow is the exhibition tournament,” he then said calmly, if only to cut a clear path across the haze and end the moment. “You must get plenty of rest.”  
  
A small frown settled on the younger man’s brow. “But Your Highness is still reading.”  
  
“I fail to see why my reading should affect your decision on sleeping,” Schneizel pointed out dryly. “Or is it because you cannot sleep in a well-lit room?”  
  
“No, it’s not that,” Suzaku said hastily. “I have no problem with light or anything, but… I’m not sure if it’s at all appropriate if I sleep while my lord is still….”  
  
That, the prince decided as Suzaku looked down, words trailing off, was not surprising coming from his knight. It was actually a wonder that he had not seen it coming.  
  
“Then, I suppose, I have no choice but to order you,” he said placidly, his left hand moving to rest on top of the younger man’s head, stroking his hair. He did not mean to soften the blow – _much_ – but his words lost most of their sharpness anyway – or at least it seemed to be the case with his knight. Suzaku sighed, very quietly, eyes closed, the tension leaving his muscles as his expression softened into that of distant relief.  
  
“If that is what Your Highness wishes,” he mumbled deferentially, but did not move away from his master’s touch. And, Schneizel realised, somewhat belatedly, neither did he for that matter. There seemed to be no need to. He could feel, very acutely, how the tightness uncoiled under his fingertips, how Suzaku’s breathing evened out, now long and measured, in tandem with the slight rise and fall of his chest. Everything was as it should be, the quietude, the song silence had left in his ears, the soft curls that slipped and slid between his fingers, the subtle warmth that travelled the room and touched his skin and lit those green eyes, and then the hum of contentment in his chest as he savoured every second.  
  
Perhaps it was what made him bend down, just slightly, to place a kiss on the smooth brow. Suzaku was his, and this fact was not manifested in a knight badge he proudly wore or pencilled away on a piece of paper. It was in this tie, intangible as it might be between them, in this petty deed which earned him a small sigh and a smile so heart-twistingly shy and honest that he had to withdraw his hand completely.  
  
“Now sleep,” he ordered, his voice much too gentle and certainly nowhere near as firm as he would have preferred. Suzaku’s face was pulled into a pout, but he closed his eyes and burrowed himself deeper in the bed, one hand slipping under the pillow as it always did. Schneizel returned to his book, hiding a smile which was tugging insistently on his lips.  
  
A prince and his knight, a master and his servant, a king and his arm to reach for the heavens and touch the throne of stars. It was what made Suzaku his.  
  
 _ **End**_


	16. King of Spades

Zero.

The name rang like a curse in her ears. Cecile frowned and increased her pace, weary of the restless rumours which hadn’t ceased to spread like wildfire since yesterday’s attack. The military headquarter had been buzzing with excitement, concern, and perhaps also fear, only to mention some. But of course; they were now officially under attack.

She inwardly scoffed. It was a charitable description – an attack. Personally, she would rather call it a trial-and-error shot, and a very small if not pointless one at that. An attack should be able to endure at least one rushed attempt of retaliation, but this one, it had crumbled even before the opposing army could assemble their full force – although, she must admit, the fact that they had Suzaku on their side must count as something, possibly a causal factor.

There was the common knowledge, that desperation called for desperate measures at desperate times. But what she had seen yesterday was plain recklessness, even stupidity at its paramount. What they had intended to achieve with five rogue Knightmares and a handful of stolen weapons she didn’t know. It seemed like a bad joke, and she would have thought it was one if they didn’t have sixteen dead bodies in the morgue.

“Miss Cecile!”

She turned around at the call of her name and noticed a man wearing a white lab coat running after her. “I’ve been...trying to reach you...” he said, punctuated by wheezes of breath, “for the past hour...”

“I’m sorry, I had a meeting with General Bartley,” she explained quickly. “Roxley from Maintenance, right?”

“Yes,” he breathed in some relief, smoothing the tired lines on his boyish face. “I take it you got our note?”

“Just before I left. Something about the prototype you’ve been developing, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes,” he said nervously. “And you are the one who knows everything about Lancelot best after Professor Asplund. Please. You know we won’t bother you if we’re not really in a jam.”

“I don’t mind,” Cecile assured him. “I’ll get my notes first and meet you back at the lab.”

He nodded his gratitude and retreated in the direction he had come from. Cecile sighed, mourning the few scant minutes she had planned to steal for a little rest before plunging into her next work. Now, even that seemed to be denied from her.

She was just passing the atrium when she noticed Suzaku, standing close to Lieutenant Colonel Sedgwick in front of the elevator. She raised a hand, lips curving into a smile, but her greeting was stalled when she noticed his expression. It wasn’t fury as much as determination, his lips set into a grim, iron-cast line as Sedgwick spoke to him in a low voice. They disappeared into the elevator when it arrived, not once glancing at her direction.

Cecile was frowning when she continued on her way. She still remembered the exhibition tournament five days ago, the hard-earned victory after one long hour of struggling and tumbling to the edge of defeat far too many times, and then the deafening cheers when the crowd had finally fallen for him. Awe, for once, had eclipsed looks brimming with hate and disgust, and she had sat there amidst the cheers and shrill whistles, eyes blurred by tears that mingled quietly with her laughter. It was all she could do to show oh how _very proud_ she was of him. He was their champion, once and for all, and the grudging acknowledgment he had earned after the exhibition tournament from the rest of the knights only sealed his victory.

But then, the attack had happened.

No name had been mentioned. No one had come forward to claim responsibility, but everyone had their guess and it was most likely correct. She didn’t like to think about Zero. Suzaku always reacted much too strongly when it concerned the masked terrorist. He had come this far, to this height no honorary Britannian had ever reached before, but one wrong move could grind it to dust.

Sometimes, Cecile reflected as she settled behind her desk and started gathering her notes, sometimes she wished that she could do something more.

\-----

The office smelled of fresh paint, new furniture and, curiously, flowers. Jacques noticed the shades of white, yellow, and pink, arranged in a rather amateurish but pleasing manner in a china vase on the side table, and was about to inquire about their presence in the room when Suzaku’s sharp voice cut into his meandering thought.

“What did he say?”

Suzaku was standing with his back to the desk, eyes trained on him with terrifying intensity, the same kind which had brought down Lord Vandewalle’s Knightmare to its knees. Jacques had learnt to choose his words carefully every time his friend-cum-superior gave him that much attention. The issue with this prisoner they were interrogating was sensitive enough as it was.

“The same thing everyone else has been humming since yesterday.”

“The Black Knight.”

“A little more specific.”

“Zero.” Suzaku’s voice was flat, passionless in a way that sent a nervous tick down to the tip of his fingers. Jacques nodded, a perfunctory gesture.

Silence slipped in. Suzaku looked like he was itching to kick his desk, but the expression quieted down into something less vindictive after a few forced deep breaths. “It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jacques answered anyway. “Zero is a symbol, nothing more,” he said in what he hoped to be a calm, reasonable voice. “He doesn’t even have a face. Everyone can claim to be Zero and some will always believe the claim just for the sake of it.”

He bit his lips, but didn’t try to cover the ugly fact with roses. Japan was still rotting, despite everything Suzaku had done – _had tried to do, was still trying to do_ – and it was useless to pretend otherwise. When he saw that his friend’s face didn’t change, Jacques hid a frown and gathered his fingers stiffly behind his back.

“But we cannot dismiss the worst scenario,” he continued, watching Suzaku intently. “If he’s the real thing, then we’re in big trouble.”

A heavy, reserved look returned his close scrutiny. “He– the prisoner, didn’t he say anything else?”

“It will take more time,” Jacques said after a pause, and pretended that he hadn’t caught the flash of disgust on Suzaku’s face, “but I doubt he knows anything more worth gouging. He doesn’t seem to be involved very deep, just a limb to do the job.”

Besides, he didn’t think the man could stand more torture, but Jacques kept it to himself. There was an art to this method of interrogation. The pain must be quick, sharp, enough to frighten and debilitate, but not to the point where the subject would be begging at the feet of delusion, or it would defeat the whole purpose of digging up for information in the first place.

But even then, one could only stand so much.

“I’ll be in my office if you’re going to report to His Highness,” Jacques said, clicking his heels together, and then added, for good measure, “Sir.”

Sometimes it helped to remind his friend of his place, lofty and far too visible it was now. But when Suzaku abruptly looked up at him, eyes dark and austere, Jacques realised it was a wrong step to take.

“You knew about Takagi.”

There was something in the way Suzaku pronounced the name, a sort of lilt that enveloped each syllable like silk, quiet, protective, the kind only people like him, with his blood and his Japanese heritage, could put together. It almost made Jacques feel jealous. “No,” he answered quickly, perhaps a bit too hastily. “No. I heard things, but they were the same things that had been going around for years. I’ve never seen anything concrete until this afternoon. With you.”

He was rewarded with a cold silence for his effort. So much for honesty. Jacques released a frustrated sigh and spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “What do you want me to say?”

“Since when?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t look away, meeting the accusing gaze head on. “You went through that sort of treatment yourself, didn’t you?”

Suzaku’s fingers were curled tight, gripping the edge of his desk. There was nothing pretty about the subject and Jacques wasn’t proud of his ignorance. They rarely came to the communal showers anymore, their elevated ranks granting them certain privileges on the domestic side, but this day had been a series of unfortunate incidents. Suzaku had had a paint stain on his gloves, and Jacques had been there on an entirely different mission, but neither had expected to stumble into this scene of Private Takagi being subjected to a ‘treatment’ in the middle of the day.

It wasn’t new and certainly wasn’t surprising once they had recognised the subject of the abuse, but it hadn’t stopped Suzaku from snarling and shoving the largest of the four assaulters to the wall. The other three had only stared, frozen in place as it had dawned on them fast how badly they had screwed up in front of their superiors.

“Was I the only one stupid enough to think that things like that would stop once I became His Highness’s knight?”

Suzaku’s voice wasn’t plaintive or melancholy, just dry. Jacques refrained from answering – really, it was a rhetorical question if there ever was one. Suzaku must have known better, but he only laughed at his silence.

“I was, wasn’t I?”

“People need time to adjust to certain changes,” Jacques said quietly, an effort to ease the tension.

“Of course.”

“You can punish those you caught earlier though,” he added quickly. “You have the power for it. Hopefully it will make the others think twice before doing any bullying.”

“It can make things worse too,” Suzaku said darkly.

“Then they either need to hold on and survive, or just take the easy way out and give up.” His voice was rising now and Jacques didn’t care. “Frankly, it’s a matter of choice. And yes, it’s not easy, but we all know there’s an example to the first.”

Suzaku shot him a sharp, wry smile. When he spoke again, his voice was bitter, frustration scrawled on palimpsest ages old, suppressed, kept hidden until it shrivelled, rotted, dried.

“Climbing into His Highness’s bed will certainly guarantee your survival, I suppose.”

Jacques was surprised, and more than a little incredulous – and _that smile_ , he’d be damned if he said it wasn’t on Prince Schneizel’s face where he had seen a similar one before. The fact that he was now seeing it on Suzaku’s was more disconcerting than what he had just heard.

“That isn’t what I meant,” Jacques said stiffly. Suzaku now refused to look at him, clinging to the silence much like a petulant child. He pursed his lips, decided that it was a futile effort and was about to excuse himself for the second time when the phone on his friend’s desk decided to interrupt.

“Yes?” Suzaku answered the speaker.

“Suzaku-kun,” a familiar female voice responded. Jacques couldn’t quite place a name or a face, but he stood there listening, not missing the frantic note in her voice. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard about Area 18. It’s all over the news.”

\-----

The details were clear enough; a dangerous, mutinous region since its subjugation by the late Princess Cornelia, Area 18 was a land ripe with agitation and possibilities. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been at all surprising that Zero would rather turn his eyes to the restless desert than risking a direct headbutt with the most dangerous prince of Britannia.

Although the title might describe him just as well, Suzaku reflected numbly, staring at the black mask that took over practically every news slot, and more.

“No longer the King of Elevens, is he?”

Schneizel sounded more amused than anything. It never ceased to amaze him, how his lord could treat everything as little more than trivialities and still emerge triumphant in the end, one finger in every pie, the rest pulling every string.

“What will be our course of action, Your Highness?” he asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

“Nothing.” Lips curled upward, a faint smile. “As of now. Area 18 is not under my jurisdiction.”

“But Zero...” Suzaku paused, shuffled the guilt around before noticing that it was on every card no matter how hard he tried to lose it in the stack. “It was my fault that he managed to escape a year ago.”

“Be that as it may, I am certain His Majesty will be able to deal with him just fine.” It was a challenge, not certainty, but Suzaku kept his silence. “You may seek to redeem yourself another time.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, swallowing his frustration. It tasted almost like relief, some distorted, mangled version of it.

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

The question caught him off-guard. There was enough implication in it to set off the alarm in his head, but surely, surely his master couldn’t know...?

“No, sir,” Suzaku answered quietly, avoiding the prince’s waiting gaze.

It might not be Lelouch, he reasoned with himself. It might be an impostor – but even to his own ears it sounded too much like an excuse.

**End**


End file.
